


Common Goals

by Nanna_Jemima



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Possibly AU, Prequel, Who Am I Kidding?, Younger Saren, heroics, probably AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-08-16 01:29:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 51,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8081374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanna_Jemima/pseuds/Nanna_Jemima
Summary: Council Spectre Saren Arterius is no fan of humans. He is especially not a fan of being saved by one. And he most definitely is not a fan of having to work with the human who saved his hide. What the human thinks of it? Saren doesn't care. By the looks of it the human probably doesn't either, but they have a common goal, and they're both professionals. Most of the time anyway. For as long as it lasts. Which may or may not be all that long. Takes place a handful of years before ME1, I think. Title may yet change.





	1. Child's Play

**Author's Note:**

> This is not actually my main fic these days, but I was trampled by plot bunnies and they refused any and all ceasefires I proposed. So I started writing down this little thing. I make no promises with regards to accuracy, as I am not that strong on ME-lore. I'll take suggestions and pointers happily. As it is I have no idea where I'm going with this thing, I just had a few ideas for a couple of episodes, and a horde of plot bunnies bullying me to write it down and do something with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written in the mood of this amazing piece of music: [Time 2 by Ewan Dobson ](https://youtu.be/eXqPYte8tvc)

She fumed, unable to unleash her aggravation on anything. At least not without putting everything at risk. Staking out the merc hide-out for two days had required nearly all of her patience, but just running in there and throwing things around would accomplish fuck all, so patience was required. She could do patience. She could. If she could have some confidence that patience would actually get her somewhere. The real problem here was that it got her nowhere.

She could go in, get rid of sufficiently many mercs to get to the kids, and probably also get back out with the kids in tow. Those first steps of the mission would be if not easy then at least straight-forward and doable. But landing herself with a group of abducted children and no way to get them the hell off Omega would be no good.

Before blowing things up she would need to secure an exit, and she had not a single idea how to smuggle that many kids off Omega that would not require a steeper price than she was willing to pay. She was out of helpful contacts for the time being, and no one on this accursed space station ever did anything just because it was the right thing to do; not even if kids needed saving.

If in the process of the rescue mission she accidentally blew up the entire place someone ought to give her a fucking medal.

Tomorrow she would return a couple of times to see if anything changed, and in the meantime she would try to work out how to get those kids back to where they belonged. For now, though, a drink or two might be just the thing to settle her anger. With a little luck, she might even get some sleep.

* * *

Of all the bad ideas he had had in his life – and that was quite a few – this had turned out to be the least interesting of them all. He really should learn not to let himself be goaded into taking a mission. Mentally berating himself for allowing the councilor to manipulate him so easily he checked the data again. A relatively small crew was holed up with their abductees, some of whom were hostages they demanded a ransom for.

Why anyone would send him to rescue people was beyond him. He was not exactly known for his sensitive approach to things. Or to people. And children were quite possibly his least favourite kind of people. Nearly. At least there would not be any humans among them according to the reports.

Still, the small crew posed no real threat. That is, if the reports about their movements were to be trusted. He would be sure to survey their safehouse before going in. Verifying such details before acting could mean the difference between life and death. It frequently did for Spectres.

Doing the numbers again he sensed a trap. There were too few people involved compared to the number of abductees, especially since those they demanded ransoms for would have to be transported if ransoms were paid, thus leaving the remaining crew with too few hands. Unless of course they never meant to deliver anything at all in return for a ransom. Not an entirely unlikely scenario if they were amateurs who had yet to realize that breaking such a deal would mean certain death the moment an outside negotiator found out that negotiating was pointless.

They did not look like amateurs, however. At least not if he had to judge from what witnesses had had to say about their gear. Well-equipped amateurs? Not an impossibility. Professionals at a bigger game who simply had yet to show their hand? Much more likely. There was a trap in this mess somewhere, but so far he had found no indication as to whom it was meant for.

* * *

Time spent at the port had not offered up any opportunities. There was no real surprise to be found at that, but she would admit to being disappointed, no less annoyed than before, and increasingly desperate. If it were just for herself, she could find a way off Omega easily enough, working for her place in a ship, but with two handfuls of children seats got real expensive real quick. Plenty of ships had arrived and plenty had left. The passenger transports were not an option, though that would have been far the easiest. She simply did not have the kind of funds to put the little ones on one of them.

Nor did she know if any of them might need medical attention before or after leaving. She shuddered and wrapped herself a little tighter in her hooded sweatshirt. The longer she took finding a way to fix this the more likely was it that one or more of those kids would not make it back out of there.

Two more days she had spent watching and waiting, and not a single ship had arrived with a crew that looked like it would even consider taking on this kind of passengers without demanding creds she could not produce or worse...

Sooner rather than later she would have to make her move, even if she had not secured passage. Then it would be her holed up somewhere with a bunch of frightened kids and a gang of mercs coming for them. She briefly considered contacting Aria, but quashed the thought as quickly as it arose. No, the unofficial queen of Omega would know who she was in no time, and no one in their right mind would let a bounty her size slip through their fingers. No, she had to remain mostly hidden.

Checking out the mercenary hide-out once more before heading back she concluded that still nothing had changed. She would get some sleep during the afternoon, then grab a late dinner, sleep some more and then hit them early morning. Kids were often early risers and with a bit of luck the mercs would even be hung over and giving her a headstart. After that she would simply have to hope that actually standing there at the port with a bunch of children would get the attention of someone who could be convinced to take them to safety.

Gritting her teeth at how much of this hinged on luck, she crept back to the room in the abandoned building in which she squatted, determined to get a least a couple of hours before heading out to grab some dinner.

* * *

It seemed they might actually be a bunch of amateurs after all. Someone had been watching them from the same perch he had chosen and seemingly none of them had noticed a thing, despite their other watcher having clearly been back and forth a few times. He could not quite make sense of what this other party might mean to the case yet, but he was fairly certain that the watcher would not impede his mission. In fact, if it ended in destruction there might be someone else to lay the blame on for once. Not a bad prospect, that.

His short range scanners were plenty to determine life signs in the small corner of the complex, where the kidnappers had walled themselves in. They had settled in a tiny area, easily defensible, sure, but still tiny. He could cover it easily – so easily he might even get all the children out alive. It was also so tiny it would only require one small bomb to obliterate anything and anyone in there. It still smelled like a trap.

Finding it unlikely that a group of children could be herded easily through crowded streets he decided to take a longer route to the port; not as expedient as he would prefer, but neither would looking for a lost child be. He did not intend for there to be anyone to chase them out of there, but should someone evade his notice he would rather deal with that in an empty street. Conducting Spectre business on Omega was risky to say the least. The Council could not bee seen tipping any balance of power, so that meant no survivors aside from the children. And no witnesses.

He mapped outt he route he would take. Not too complicated. A few explosives he could set off when he had achieved a comfortable distance would bring the building down and hide any remaining evidence for long enough. First things first, however: He hefted his sniper rifle and prepared to pick off the two guards that could not be seen by anyone but each other.

Taking out the second one before he could alert everyone else had been the first sign of a challenge in this otherwise uninspiring mission. Still, nothing too difficult. It had not even been hard to place the explosive as he moved through the rooms and calmly executed every single kidnapper that stood up to him. No challenge.

The frightened children staring up at him as he placed the last of the explosives, they might have been a challenge, but they were apparently too exhausted to do anything but follow orders. Two of them were bleeding and a third was unconscious, neither of which was unexpected. With all the kidnappers dead he simply picked the unconscious boy up and ordered the rest of them to get up and follow him out.

When the trap was sprung along the deserted route he had chosen, he was still unsure of whom it was meant for; him, the children, or the mercenaries coming at him. He ordered the little ones into cover with him, set the unconscious boy down at his feet, and prepared to kill the last remaining friends of those he had already killed.

* * *

She was on her way back from supper, when she heard the easily recognizable sounds of a shoot-out between her location and the kidnapper's hide-out. It was impossible to tell if they had anything to do with each other, so she would have to find out. Armed unknowns would not be welcome once she opened fire on the mercs come early morning. Investigating was the thing to do. It turned out to be a moot point, because the explosion she soon heard definitely came from where the children had been kept. Spirits, she hoped the children had not still been in there.

Setting off on a short cut through yet another abandoned building, she planned to emerge a story or two above where the shooting was going on, now feeling certain it was all connected somehow. The sounds of gunfire remained in place, so everybody had to be hunkered down behind cover. That might make things easier for her, she could probably replace a sniper in his nest for a little while. True enough, two stories above street level a sniper was perched in a window. She listened in on his half of a quick conversation between him and his boss. Thank the spirits for people repeating their orders to confirm them. That was a Spectre down there, and he was not going to be allowed to get the children out alive. This might be the break she had been hoping for; a Council Spectre would not be saving those children without a way off this accursed rock.

As long as the mercs thought the Spectre was working alone, she had the advantage. Not a single one of them would be watching their backs. She could use that.

A few breaths later the human was bleeding out through a knife wound in his neck. She looked down at her handiwork and the bloody knife in her hand. It had been a while since she had last done this sort of thing, but desperate times and all that. Now, if only she could avoid alerting the mercs to her presence, she could buy the Spectre enough time to get the children out of there. Looking down into the alley she could see a turian pinned down with the little ones, currently unable to get out from their cover. Hopefully she could change that. And he was a turian, they were usually honourable sorts, and a Spectre to boot. The children would not come to any harm by his hand, she was sure. She would not even feel a need to accompany them off Omega this way. Perfect.

Slipping through the empty buildings and the cold echoes of gunfire, she made her way closer to the Spectre's position, killing another two mercs on the way; a turian and another human. Luck had been on her side, and as far as she could tell, no one had yet realised that they were losing people to a third party. She continued through the detritus of long-abandoned businesses. It was not easy going, as the rooms bore signs of a variety of squatters, some of whom she was sure she would rather not know the nature of. She barely managed to hide in time, when a merc forced his way through the mess to a room directly above where the children would be. Another turian, and he was holding a grenade. She had not misunderstood earlier: those children were not meant to leave Omega alive.

She had to think fast, there was no way she could slit this turian's throat. He was much too tall for her to reach anything his armour did not sufficiently cover. Apparently her luck had run out, and there was no more time for stealth. So be it. She pulled out her shotgun, stepping into the room behind him as quietly as possible and promptly unloaded three rounds from her Tornado in his back, before she ducked out of the door and took cover behind the wall. Good thing she had no trouble shooting people in the back. She quickly popped the heatsink and prepared to duck back out and unload another three – four if she were lucky – rounds in the merc. She did so down on one knee. With a bit of luck, he would be aiming higher on his first couple of shots.

She had been right. His first two shots went over her head, while her two took out the last remains of his shields. His third shot would have hit her if she had not raised a barrier. Good, she had his number; not a complete amateur, but not quite at her level either. She twisted back into cover and dropped her barrier, popped the heat sink, and changed to her pistol. Now that his shields were down, she should be able to put a few rounds in his head at such close range.

Before she ducked back through the doorway, she heard him radio to his boss that they had another hostile on the field. She had hoped he would not have taken the time to do that, but it was not unexpected. He was clearly not a complete dumbass. Pity. When she had him in her line of sight again, he had backed towards the window, apparently still preparing to drop that grenade on the children below. Like hell she would let him do that.

Despite the bulk of his armour he was faster than she had anticipated. Though she did manage to get a few shots off in the direction of his head, she missed, and made a quick decision to rush him. Barrier up and racing to get close enough to kill him, she noted with dismay when he armed the grenade. Fuck it. Last ditch efforts were her specialty.

She could just hope that the Spectre below would not shoot and kill her, when she flew out the window along with the turian mercenary. When she managed to blow his brains out it was too late to change her course, and they both dropped to the alley below. A quick and measured shock-wave sent the grenade skittering off to explode at a safe distance from the kids.

She raised her barrier again to cover both the kids and the Spectre, and when she had also regained her bearings after the drop, she looked up at the furious-looking, silver-plated face and felt her heart descend into her stomach. Shit. Her luck really had run out.

“Spectre, sir,” she spoke quickly, hoping that her offer of assistance would not be met with excessive hostility, “I'll cover them and follow your lead.”

* * *

He had sensed more than seen the biotics at first, and so he had been prepared for a conflict from above them to show its results below. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a turian merc defenestrated brains first, and the weirdest coloured asari he had ever seen following him out the window.

She landed less than gracefully on top of the dead merc, having used him to soften the landing, as she sent a grenade away from the children. Whoever she was, she was clearly not here to cause problems for him.

When her barrier went up around them all and he could catch a quick break from keeping the mercs off their backs, he turned to look fully at her. An involuntary growl made its way up his throat. She was not asari. Her asari-like fringe had thrown him off, but the biotic currently covering them all was definitely human. That also explained her deep brown, almost black, skin colour, specked though it currently was with spatters of blue blood.

Her words took him by surprise. His face was not exactly unknown; she had to know who he was. For an obviously combat experienced human to offer him assistance was not just unexpected, it was so unlikely it bordered on insanity. Something was up, and he did not like it in the slightest. Still, he could not deny that her offer of protecting the children would be necessary to get them all out of there. Now he could just hope that she could hold the barrier for long enough. Humans were not known for being the most stable biotics. High output, no endurance – generally, anyway. They would get as far as they could, it was certainly better than being pinned down here.

He sent her a curt nod, and indicated she do something about the unconscious child at his feet. Not having to carry the boy would free him up to keep mercs off their backs with much greater efficiency. She nodded briefly in return and quickly scooted over to pick up the boy and settle him on her right hip and arm. She had to do it one-handed, controlling the barrier with her left. He doubted very much she would last all the way back to the ship, but if they could just get halfways there, he might have taken out enough mercs along the way to make it the rest of the way with the children.

“Keep the barrier around yourself and the children,” he ordered. “I'll handle myself.”

“Yes, sir,” she confirmed his order. At least the human knew how to show proper respect. That, too, was unusual. He watched her as she withdrew to where the children were huddled together, and withdrew the barrier from his location. He immediately turned to take out a few more mercs, while watching the human and the little ones out of the corner of his eye. She walked like an experienced fighter, keeping her centre of gravity low and stable, even with a child on her hip, but she wore no armour and had still thought it a good idea to get mixed up in a fight. No, she likely would not last all the way to his ship. And good riddance, too, she was just human.

“Up you go, kids, we're moving out!” Her tone was commanding, and it was no surprise to see the turian kids respond to a show of authority with automatic obedience. The asari were less efficient, and it took the human a few more commands to get them all on their feet.

“Alright, pair up!” The human ordered them into pairs with jerky gestures of her head, directing all of the four asari paired with turians. “If your partner stumbles, you help them up, if you can't get them up, you call out to me. We gotta move quickly, so look after each other. Stick close to me, and you'll be safe under my barrier. Understood?”

All the kids nodded; the turians curtly and vehemently, the asari hesitantly and uncertain of what was going on. He hoped she knew what she was doing, but so far it seemed like it. Arranging the kids had taken her a mere few minutes, and then she turned to him.

“Ready to move out, sir. Where to?” He met her eyes for a moment. They were still clear and showed no sign of strain or exhaustion yet. And she seemed to have actually meant the part about following his lead and was now awaiting his orders. A human willingly letting him order them around, he snorted quietly. When he had wished for a more interesting mission, this was not quite what he had had in mind.

“Dock 20,” he told her, hoping she would know her way around the place. “Avoid crowds. Detour that way. Walkway on the left around the abandoned cannery.” He gestured with his head down the alley behind him, as he shot at a merc forcing him back in cover.

She nodded sharply. “Roger that.”

“Move out.” He gave the order and she immediately began moving the little ones down the alley under the cover of her shimmering blue barrier. She set a pace that was a brisk walk for her and a slow jog for the kids. Clever. Too slow to exhaust them, too fast for them to have time to wander off.

As they made their way along the alley and she guided the children onto the narrow walkway, he took notice of how she kept the barrier close around them, conserving her energy. Frequently her eyes sought him out, and took note of what he was doing. So frequently, in fact, that he never needed to call out an order. Whenever he needed her to turn a corner, she had already looked at him for directions. Whatever else she might be, she clearly had some idea what she was doing, compensating for their lack of radio contact.

As they neared the districts around the port the mercs intensified their efforts, confirming for him that no one was meant to leave Omega alive. He just wished he knew whether that was primarily about him or the children. The human biotic caught his eye again. It might even be about her. She seemed to have known what was going on with the children, and though she seemed to want to keep them alive, he was not about to trust her.

He heard her curse behind him and turned around to see what had prompted that reaction. He let out a curse of his own, when he spotted the mercs waiting for them. They were surrounded.

Catching up with the biotic and the children he redirected his own efforts to clearing a path for them. He took stock of the children. They seemed to be doing mostly alright. One of the larger boys was carrying an asari. She had been bleeding and limping from old wounds, when he got them out, but he had not expected for it to become a problem. A newfound appreciation for the biotic's foresight in pairing the wounded, little asari with a turian strong enough to carry her emerged. The other wounded child – a turian – had also been paired with the other of the two biggest turians. If the woman managed to survive this, he needed to find out who she was – it became more and more apparent that she had run ops before, only what kind and for whom remained unknown to him.

Looking at her from a closer vantage point as he drew up on the side of their little group, he could tell she was beginning to feel the strain. A sheen of sweat covered her face and her lips were drawn into a tight line, whenever she was not calling direction to the little ones.

He, too, was tiring, having had to use his biotics for shielding himself more often than he was comfortable with. A gunfight that dragged out was not unusual in his line of work, but he usually avoided missions that required keeping anyone but himself alive. It required an entirely different kind of attention and presence and he was not used to it. He mentally berated himself for it. As a Spectre he ought to be ready for all kinds of missions, even the ones he did not particularly care for, and his performance today was not acceptably up to his standards.

The mercs were not fools either. They knew to take cover, and it took him a while before he had cleared out enough of them to give the call to move onwards.

The woman stood by a gate to herd the children through while he covered their retreat. He looked at them briefly to get an idea of the pace they would be able to set. He saw her eyes widen and then she called out. “Watch out!”

He turned back the way they had come just in time to see a merc firing an anti-tank rocket in their direction. Time slowed. He did not have enough time to get into cover. What kind of idiots use anti-tank weaponry against people on foot, anyway? Idiots who were about to tick an infamous Spectre off on their list of prestigious kills, that's who. The rocket was about to strike, and there was no way he could find the energy to raise a barrier beforehand. Not that anything he could manage would be strong enough for this.

The tingly sensation of biotics enveloped him, and moments later the rocket exploded in a sea of fire less than two meters in front of him, the shimmering blue of the woman's barrier guiding the conflagration away and around him. He heard her groan under the pressure, as he quickly spun towards her and bolted for the gate. All the kids were through as was she.

She saw her attention shift from him to the kids on the other side of her. He heard a gunshot, two gunshots, and then the rattling boom of a shotgun fired in close quarters with an echo. He leaped through the gate and shut it behind them, quickly scrambling the lock. Hopefully it would detain their pursuers just enough. The shotgun went off again. Turning his attention back to his charges a small turian girl was holding a shotgun and a very dead batarian mercenary, missing most of his thigh and hip was lying next to a ditto human, missing most of his head. The girl was covered in blood and looked more than a little shaken, her mandibles quivering violently.

“Thank you,” he heard the woman say to the blood-soaked girl. Her voice sounded like she was about to drop. They needed to hurry. More than they already were.

He stepped through their huddle, stuck the muzzle of his assault rifle out through the barrier and forced the few remaining mercenaries on this side of gate back and off of their backs.

“Not far now. Make a run for it. Quickest route. Run when I tell you.”

“Yes, sir,” the tired voice of the biotic sounded from right next to him. He looked at her more closely. The whites of her eyes, previously a stark contrast to dark hue of her skin, was now bloodshot. If he had to rely on her protection for the children they definitely needed to hurry.

He stepped out of the barrier and mowed down two more mercenaries forcing four more to withdraw and regroup.

“Now! Go!” His call was more of a snarl, his frustration with the entire situation shining through more than he had intended. Only two of the children were still alert enough to have noticed and look reasonably frightened of him. Once more he let the woman lead the children, while he brought up the rear and kept their pursuers off their backs. It seemed they had finally caught a break, and the few that remained were easily kept at an acceptable distance. Good thing, too, now that they had to navigate inbetween other people.

The penultimate stretch thus proved to be the easiest of them all. Their attackers clearly did not want to piss off Aria too badly, and thus held back a bit while they passed through the last areas before hitting the docks themselves.

When they finally got to Dock 20, the kidnappers gave them everything they had left. His shields fried and he once again had to rely on the biotic barrier offered by his unexpected partner, as he unlocked the ship and ordered everyone in. The woman led the children on board, while he held off the mercs.

When the last of them disappeared through the hatch he bounded inside and slammed the door controls, locking down the ship. The woman froze right before him. Instantly he realised she had been heading back outside. Madness.

Uncertainty was plain to see in her eyes, though they were unfocused and on the brink of non-comprehension. “Uh, Spectre Arterius? Sir?” So, she did know who he was, after all.

“Settle in. We're leaving.” He hurried into the cockpit and got the ship off the dock as soon as possible. He did not relish the thought of those mercs making attempts with anti tank weapons on his hull. Not that he expected such things to work, but he did not know what else they might carry. And he still needed to leave Omega without having gotten clearance. That always took some dodging.

As he sat down in the pilot's chair he heard behind him the dull thump of a body slumping against the bulkhead and low, muttered “fuck”.

* * *

She was too exhausted to utter the entire string of curses currently lodged in her throat. She had never seen him in person before, but how many barefaced silver-grey turian Spectres could there be? And he had nodded almost imperceptibly at his name, confirming her fears. This time she had really done it. She should have been quicker, getting out of the ship before he could close the hatch on her. Even better, she should have never gotten inside, just plonked the unconscious boy down on the threshold and made a run for it. She would have been able to hide from the mercs on her own anyway. Maybe.

But she had done none of those things and now she was stuck on board Saren Arterius' ship. Infamous turian Spectre and known hater of humans. She was so screwed. She closed her eyes giving in to the exhaustion and letting her body fall back against the bulkhead. Her knees buckled and she slid down and leaned her head back. Her head was spinning – and aching – her amps uncomfortably warm. Not fried, but close enough. She needed to get them out, but her hands were shaking too violently to be of any use. She could not even feel her feet any longer.

She swore. Truthfully she wanted to cry, but she was too tired to even do that. She had evaded capture for so long, and now she had stepped on board a ship belonging to a Spectre, and she had done it of her own volition and in such poor condition that she would not even be able to defend herself. And not just any Spectre. Oh no, trust her to never make small mistakes, only truly spectacular ones were apparently worth her time. And now she was sitting in a hallway, almost completely incapacitated, waiting for Saren fucking Arterius to realise who she was. She felt like thumping her head against the metallic wall at her back, but she could not find the strength for it, so for the moment she merely enjoyed how it at least led some of the heat away from the back of her skull.

“Uhm, lady?” The child's voice tore her out of her self-indulgent misery, and she cracked open an eye. It was the little female, who was holding her shotgun out for her. “Here. I thought you would want it back.”

It was all she could do to smile, but the child looked completely stunned and would need to be talked to as well. She took the proffered shotgun with shaking hands, made sure the safety was on, and laid it across her lap. “Thank you. What's your name?”

“Caelis, miss.” The turian's mandibles fluttered slightly.

“You did good out there today, Caelis. That was some very quick thinking. Smart.”

The girl ducked her head slightly at her praise. “I thought you might be angry with me for grabbing your gun like that.”

She smiled at her – or at least she tried to make her pained grimace a reassuring smile. “If people grab my gun I would normally get angry, yeah, but since you did it to save lives, I ain't gonna complain.”

Studying the floor between them was apparently far more to the child's liking. “I... I haven't. They... he...” The halting words ended in a throaty croak she recognized as the turian equivalent of a sniffle.

“Hey,” she raised a hand to grasp the little turian's upper arm and give it a squeeze, “it's alright, Caelis. It's alright. Come here.” She tugged her down to kneel beside her and drew her in for a hug. “Those people were not going to do anything good to any of us. You did nothing wrong.”

“But his eyes,” Caelis croaked. “I've never...”

“Killed anyone before?” She suggested and the girl in her arms nodded. “Neither has most other kids your age. But you did what was necessary. If you hadn't been thinking so damn quick, those two would've gotten to me, and then I couldn't have protected any of you any longer. You killed two people today, yes, but you saved fourteen others.”

“But his eyes,” the girl protested.

“What did you see in his eyes?”

“He didn't wanna die.” Caelis croaked the last word.

She held her out at arms length and looked her in the eyes. “Girl, you think anybody in their right mind wanna die?” Caelis shook her head in response. “Me either. You know who's flying this ship?”

“A Spectre...”

“That's right. Council Spectre Saren Arterius is flying this ship, and you can bet your ass that if you don't wanna die, then you gotta stay away from doing shit that'll get the likes of him sent after you.” She paused for effect, making sure Caelis was following her reasoning in her still shocked state of mind. “Now those men; the humans, batarians, turians, the whole damn lot of them. They did something bad, when they kidnapped you and the others. And to my guess it weren't the only bad thing they ever did, and it probably weren't the last bad thing they were ever gonna do either. So when their bad deeds gets someone like Spectre Arterius called down on their asses, you can bet your own ass they deserved what they got. Only variable here is that two of them got what they deserved from you rather than the Spectre. So don't you go feeling bad for them. They brought it on themselves, and you did nothing wrong. Nothing, ya hear me?”

Caelis nodded meekly, her croaks more subdued now and quickly coming back under her control. “So, I did okay?”

“You did more than okay, sweetie. You did good. You did damn good out there. You were very brave, and with snappy thinking like that you'll make a very good soldier for the Hierarchy one day, when you grow up. I'm sure you'll make your parents very proud. Heck, I'm sure this'll make 'em proud.”

“You think so?”

“I'm sure of it.” She pulled Caelis in for another hug, a semi-detached part of her mind noticing how the ship's sounds changed. She guessed he was doing evasive maneuvres to get out of there. Arterius had probably not expected to have to leave in quite that much of a horry. Then she noticed one of the boys coming up to them. He waited politely for them to hug it out, but she could tell from his shuffling feet how they should probably make it quick. She gently pushed Caelis onto her own two feet again and turned her sorely challenged attention to the boy and tried to not let her exhaustion slur her speech too much. “What can I do for you?”

“Uhhh miss, the partner you assigned me is bleeding again. I can't make it stop.”

“What? Oh shit,” she exclaimed. “You have a first aid kit in there?”

“I found one, and I've applied medigel, but I think she needs stitches.”

“Crap.” She tried to get her legs back under her, but her right leg refused to cooperate. Probably because of the rounds that batarian had managed to put in her, before Caelis took him down. “Double crap! Help me up, kid. And get me in there. What's your name?”

“Doran, miss,” he said as he dutifully helped her up as ordered. She put the shotgun back in its place behind her back, below the backpack, freeing her hands to help the boy support her weight. He was almost as tall as her, so probably only a year or two from entering the military. She could lean on him without hesitation.

“Alright, Doran. I'm so burned out right now, my hands are shaking too much to stitch anyone up. Not that my stitches were ever pretty to begin with.”

“Uhh miss?”

“You wouldn't happen to want to be a field medic, when you enter the service? 'Cause you're about to get a lesson in it regardless.”

“I, uhm, okay?”

She spoke with a good deal more energy than she currently possessed. Partly it was to instill some courage and energy in the shocked children, and partly it served to fool her own brain into thinking she had more ressources left than she had. She could run a bit longer on this. It would cost her afterwards, but if there was a kid in there at risk of bleeding out, she would simply have to pay that price.

Doran quickly got her into what was really a cargo and equipment compartment. No real furniture, no cots, no nothing, just crates with equipment and against one of them sat the little asari. It was the wound along her side that had torn open and she was crying. Another asari held her hand and dabbed blood away.

“Alright, help me up on the crate,” she directed Doran. She would have a decent view from there. “Don't worry, sweetie, we'll get you sorted.”

Once seated on the crate getting a decent top down view of things she started talking them through it all. “Doran, lay her down on her side. Wound needs to be facing up, so the blood will drain away. You there, you just keep holding her hand, comfort her as best you can, alright?”

The other asari nodded, her eyes big and fearful. “Will she make it?”

“Course she will. Don't worry. You just do what you can to keep her comfortable.” She reassured the asari, but talking loudly enough for all of them to hear. She figured they would all need a little reassurance.

“Doran, first things first. Your hands. Sanitize them with the shit in that bottle.” She pointed it out for him, and while waiting for him to finish she took stock of the contents of the kit. It all seemed to be levo, the clever boy had clearly already thought that far ahead.

“Done,” he told her.

“Good. There are syringes in those packs. Grab one and load it with analgesic.” She waited until he'd done so. “Now, give her shots of exactly one unit half a centimetre underneath the skin for every seven centimetres along both sides of the cut.”

Directed at the whimpering asari she said. “Now, I know this is going to be uncomfortable. There's gonna be about six or seven stings, but after that you'll be numb and shouldn't feel it anymore. Hold on to your friend's hand and don't worry. You'll be fine, now you just gotta be brave a little while longer. Alright?”

When the child nodded her understanding, she nodded the go-ahead to Doran, who administered the shots. He was uncertain and did things a lot slower than she would have, but unlike her, his hands were not currently shaking enough to make whipped cream, so his slow caution would simply have to be good enough. He took meticulous care to do things exactly as she directed, and that was a boon.

All the shots over and done with the bleeding asari finally had some relief. Her pained whimpers slowly stopped and settled as frightened sniffles. The poor child could hardly be blamed for that. The other asari child holding her hand was whispering comforting words in her ear, and received an encouraging smile to bolster her efforts.

“Doran! Up next: You're gonna learn to do stitches.” She saw him swallow uncomfortably. “See that device?” She pointed a shaky finger at a corner of the first aid kit. “That's the one you need. Hmmm, I'll probably have to show you... hand me the sanitizer, would you?”

He quickly got up and brought both the hand sanitizer and the flat, round device she pointed out. She rubbed the gel into her fingers and made sure to not contaminate anything that would touch the little asari's injury. “Now see here,” she calmly explained to the attentive turian teen, “this thing is loaded with ten needles and small ends of thread. There'll be refills in the kit. This...” She indicated the little muzzle along the round side of the device. “...is your needle. Place it where you want one side of the suture. You'll be holding the edges of the wound together, and if you do that right, then making a movement like this...” She made a curving movement with her wrist. “...should direct the needle through without problems. The rounded shape of this should guide your movements. Do it slowly, and pull towards yourself, so you can see what you're doing and make sure you haven't hit anything you shouldn't have. You got that?”

He nodded and briefly repeated what she had said.

“Excellent, now when the thread is through you do not pull away. Instead you twist this around one-eighty, like this, and then you press this. It fuses the thread ends at the right tension along the skin, so it's very important you don't pull it away from the skin before doing that, alright?”

Doran nodded again. “Right. Needle through, curved motion. Twist one-eighty while still touching skin, then press and fuse. Then can I just remove it?”

“Very good. And yes. You can just lift it away. Still, be careful, these things can and do break if you mistreat them. For the next suture, you push here to unwrap and ready a fresh needle-set.”

“Huh, that's the easy part, then.” His tone was bleak with the responsibility foisted upon him.

“You can do it, kiddo. Hand me those refills. I'll have 'em ready for you, when you need them, because once you start this, you cannot let go of the edges of that wound until all the sutures are in. You got that?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” He sounded a little winded, probably no less shocked by all this than the others, even if he had managed to stay calm a little longer.

“Doran, I mean it. Once we start, you holds those edges together with your hand – either hand – at all times, until I say you can let go, alright? Otherwise we risk tearing the skin and making any further stitches impossible.”

His eyes widened a little. “Spirits, I can't... Can't you...?”

She held out a hand to him letting him see just how badly she was shaking from exhaustion. “Believe me, if I felt able to do this, I would not force this on you, kiddo, but the only other person here who is able to do anything about this, he's currently flying us all away from danger, and we can't wait for him. She doesn't have that kind of time. She's lost a lot of blood already.”

He swallowed again. “Shit. Spirits. Shit. I... alright.”

“Hey man, take a deep breath. You can do this. I'll talk you all the way through it, and I promise I won't take my eyes off this until you're done. I'm here.”

Doran did as ordered and took a deep breath. And three more. “Okay, I can do it. I can do it. I can do this.”

“Course you can. Now patch her up.”

A look of intense focus on a turian face never ceased to amaze her. She was never sure whether it was the deep set eyes or the plates that did it – maybe both – but that focused stare she was sure could cut steel if they set their minds to it. Even a relatively young boy like Doran had this ability to narrow his entire universe into a small bubble, where the important events were going on. He was doing that right now, shutting out every sound from the ship and the other kids, focusing only on her voice and what his hands were doing.

She talked him through the first five sutures in great detail. Then he started to get the hang of it and she shortened her direction to merely be a rope for him to cling to. After another five and the need for a refill came up, he looked to her and, having already sanitized her hands again, she was ready for it with a fresh set. His gaze was slightly dazed as it met hers, his hyperfocus meaning he hardly comprehended anything outside of their little makeshift infirmary.

After twenty stitches they were so high up the girl's torso that her breathing made it difficult to settle the sutures properly. She talked him through the resulting nervousness about it. They would not be the prettiest stitches ever seen, but they would hold until they got to wherever Arterius would take them. They had to.

Fourty-seven stitches later she could direct Doran to apply medigel to the length of the cut and wrap it all up in bandages to keep it protected and clean. He might not believe it himself, just yet, but the boy would be an excellent field medic if he chose to go that route. His beginner's stitches had been better than she had expected. Calm hands while under pressure was a gift and she told him as much before he slumped down next to the now sleeping asari.

No one else seemed to need urgent medical attention, so it was time for her to get back in the room by the entrance. That was where Arterius would be expecting to find her, and she did not want to give him the impression of having wandered without permission.

“Can someone help me back out there?” She asked of the room.

Doran was too mindblown to even hear what she said, but the other of the biggest turian boys came over and lent her a shoulder. He spoke not a single word to her as he helped her out to where Doran and Caelis had found her, and when he had escorted her there, to see her sit back down leaning against the wall, he turned abruptly and went back to the others. She smiled to herself. Leave it to a turian to behave honourably towards someone they despise. Well-behaved and racist – he probably got both from his parents.

She leaned back again and closed her eyes, hoping there would be no more interruptions. She really should have asked one of the kids to find her an energy bar in her backpack. She really needed it, but by now she was too tired to care.

Vaguely she registered heavy footsteps pass her, but she could not rouse herself to react. She could hardly even manage to care. And they passed her by anyway. Where was she?

She heard a door slide shut far, far away. The heavy footsteps came back and stopped. Armour creaked and then the cold muzzle of a gun was pressed to her head just behind her left ear.

The flanged voice of an adult turian male spoke quietly in her ear and sent icy shivers down her spine. “Hand over your gun, human. Very, very slowly.”

 


	2. Reactionary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written in this mood: [Blood and Ice by Ewan Dobson](https://youtu.be/MBvAvW6KQDk)

Saren almost thought the human had passed out, she certainly took long enough to react to his order. He was just about to repeat himself, when her eyelids fluttered and she groaned quietly. Her eyes never opened fully.

“Huh, whaa?”

“Your shotgun, human. I know the girl handed it back to you. Now hand it over.” He did not consider it necessary to repeat the order to move slowly. It was all she could to move at all at the moment.

“Mmmf, yesssa...” Her speech was so slurred she sounded drunk out of her mind, but she had understood his words well enough it seemed. She moved her left arm out from where she had held it between her torso and her drawn up legs. He had expected her to still have the gun in hand, but she did not. Instead she reached behind her and fumbled a bit, taking the shotgun from its place at the small of her back.

She held it between them, not even letting her fingers get close to the trigger, muzzle pointed down. The safety was on. He quickly grabbed it and placed on the floor behind him.

“Your amps. Fried?”

She snorted. It might have been disdainful if she had had more energy to put behind it, but as it were, it merely came out pathetic. “No amatcheur...” She trailed off, but picked up her focus again. “Ampsh fine.” No, an amateur she was definitely not. If she had not fried her amps even with the efforts she had put in back there, he needed to be very careful around her.

“I'll have your amps as well. Out with them.”

“Huhh, sorry. Can't.”

“Don't try my patience, human. Your amps. Now!” He prodded her head with the pistol he was holding to it.

This time she actually opened her eyes and looked at him. Her gaze was unfocused, and if she had not been responding to his words, he would have expected her to be completely beyond understanding just by judging from the glazed look she sent him. She lifted her left hand up between them. Now, unburdened by a shotgun it shook violently.

“Mean it. Can't. You take 'em.”

She turned her face away from him and groaned a little as she rolled her body along the wall to lean sideways against it, her back to him. Her left hand she had dropped back to her lap, her right she brought up and lifted her weird fringe out of the way, bending it in a way that looked painful, giving him access to the back of her neck and the amp ports at the base of her skull.

Clearly threatening her with a pistol was not making any real difference at the moment, so he holstered it. She was far more cooperative than he had expected. Then again, at the moment there was absolutely no fight left in her. It would be interesting to see how that would change once she was functional again.

Both hands freed up he knelt right behind her and placed his left hand round her jaw, holding her still. Usually, turian talons anywhere near a throat made people stiffen in fright, but he did not even feel her swallow a lump. Probably too exhausted to react to much of anything, he surmised. His thumb resting behind her left ear, where his gun had been moments earlier, he guided her head forward so he could see what he was doing.

A voice at the back of his mind, sounding suspiciously like Nihlus, piped up about the inherent eroticism in having a female show him her neck like this. He would not deny that he could see the appeal – given that the female was not a human, which this one undeniably was. That would never have bothered Nihlus, of course, but then, few things ever did bother his young protégé.

Something that bothered Saren was discovering unexpected and disquieting things. One such thing was the fact that this woman had not just one or two, but six amps in the back of her head. Madness! No wonder she could hold the barrier as long as she did. And no wonder she was crashing hard on the deck by his airlock right now.

“Six of them,” he commented flatly to her as he ejected the first of them. “Too much.”

She grunted, but he heard no real protest in it. “Eshperimental. No choice.”

He wondered at that, and decided to question her more in-depth later, when she would once again be able to form words it was bearable to listen to. That needed to be handled as well. He ejected another two amps. They were still hot – uncomfortably so – despite the time having passed with her taking command of the children's infirmary in the hold. How had she even been able to think straight with six amps so close to overheating? He might have to re-evaluate his views of human capacity for self-discipline. Or maybe it was stubbornness. Whatever it was, her potential power output combined with this unexpected resilience made her potentially dangerous.

Two more came out and he might not have heard her sigh if his fingers curled around her throat had not felt the little jolt from her glottis. They had most definitely caused her more pain than she let on. Removing the last one he also noted that the final two had been hotter than the others. Experimental, indeed, whoever had installed her ports had not been able to balance the power flow between them correctly. It was a miracle she had not only not fried her amps, but not even boiled her brain either. Six. Humans were mad.

He got up. “Don't move.”

She only grunted in affirmation and he left to put her Tornado and her amps away for secure storage. Interesting that she should use a weapon of turian make; and not one of the big well-known lines either. Her amps he did not even recognise make and model of. He would definitely need to learn more about this experimental tech she carried. It was no mean feat she had managed out there, and he wanted to know about any potential threats to galactic stability. Scratch that, he already knew humans were a threat to galactic stability. What he needed to know or confirm was whether human military or paramilitary groups had access to more advanced or more powerful tech than previously documented. Or assumed – everybody always assumed that everybody else had more powerful tech than they let on; that was the nature of things.

When he returned, he stopped short in surprise; she had not moved a muscle and was thus still sitting with her head bowed, holding her hair away. He crouched down next to her, boxing her in between himself and the bulkhead. So far she had responded with complete passivity to any threats he had made, and she was the picture of obedience. Either she was genuinely on her best behaviour, which was unlikely given that she was human; humans had no good behaviour. She could also be trying to lull him into a false sense of security around her. The latter was far more likely, given what he knew about human capacity for deceit.

“Are you just unusually good at following directions, or have you fallen asleep?” He asked her, fully intending his mockery to be understood even by her simple understanding of tonality.

“Hmmf, you said to no move,” she mumbled, still slurring and without moving.

“Following directions, then. You can let go of your fringe.” She did and let her hand drop to its counterpart in her lap. “Got energy bars in your pack?”

“Mm hm.” She made no move to shrug the bag off and do something about it.

Saren sighed. She was quickly demonstrating to him that if there was one thing he hated more than humans, it was helpless humans whom he needed to keep alive for questioning. “Need help?”

“Pleash...”

He reached for the bag, but she breathed in as if to speak again. Struggled to do so even. He paused and waited to hear what she meant to say. At some point he would intentionally provoke her ire, just to see what form it would take, but for now he would see what she would willingly offer.

“Uhh, ssir, in the interesht of disclosure... and my survi... -val. Go' more guns.” He stiffened and almost reached for his sidearm at the admission. Her eyes were still closed, hands still in her lap, and she was leaning heavily, slumped even, against the wall. She made not a single threatening move, and he fought down his initial reaction.

“I see. Where?”

“Thigh holst...” She gave up half-ways through the word. “Both legs...”

So that would explain her outfit with baggy pants. She hid weapons in them. This time it was his right hand he laid around her neck as his left found the fake pocket with access to her left thigh holster. A Stiletto. More turian-made weaponry. Curious. Moving closer he switched hands to get to her side currently leaning against the wall. Once again he was kneeling behind her with fingers curled around her throat, and though her breathing told him she was still awake, she was as calm as he could have wished for.

He had to rock her slightly away from the wall, and she meekly leaned into the hand around her throat and leaned against his arm, when he did so. Everything about it felt wrong to him. Humans were his enemies; not a single one of them was supposed to sit semi-relaxed against him – not even if it was due to semi-unconsciousness.

As he slipped his right hand to the other thigh holster, she muttered: “Oh, righ', knife too...”

He would have chuckled at how she could have forgotten the bloody knife he pulled out of there, if he had not been so utterly appalled at her poor weapons maintenance. Putting a soiled knife back in its sheath was bad form. Immediately his opinion of her professionalism lowered back to what he would normally have expected of a human. That was until he pulled out the Stinger. It, too, was bloody. Shit. Putting the weapons out of her reach he felt her thigh and noted with some satisfaction that she at least was wearing a decent undersuit underneath her otherwise civilian looking clothes.

“You're wounded. Why didn't you say?”

“Hm? Oh. No serious...” She attempted to shrug, but held fast by his hand and leaning heavily against him as she was it only served to make her slump even further down. Was she trying to hang herself on his fingers? The silly fool. He prodded at the wound and decided she was probably right. Seemed to be a couple of glancing hits. Without medical attention they would scar, though. Not being a novice, she had to know that and not care.

“Was this all?”

“Boot dagger...” The slurred words were accompanied by a twitch of her right foot

“Of course. I might've known; deceptive, dishonourable pyjaks the lot of you” he grumbled, as he leaned into her to reach for the small dagger in her right boot. She shuddered. Presumably her energy crash had her freezing by now. “Now, was **that** everything?” He let his impatience colour his voice heavily. A turian would hear the subvocals and find his tone offensively over the top, but if he wanted the human to hear it at all he needed to exaggerate it.

It worked, because she flinched slightly and nodded, so he let go of her only for her to slump back against the wall, hitting her head against it with a hard thump that would have made him wince had he cared even the slightest bit for her well-being beyond the ability to answer his questions at some point. She neither resisted nor aided him, when he pulled her bag off her shoulders and checked it to find her energy rations. He handed her three packets. Cooperative when exhausted; now he wanted to see how she did on a sugar high, without a well-rested mind. Might even have some interesting revelations for him.

He would not lower himself to open the packets for her, and thus he could take no small amusement in watching the pathetic creature fumble with the glossy wrappers to get to the calories within. In the meantime he took a look at the datapad he also found in her pack. She had encrypted it. More and more questions arose that he would want her answers to. Far more than he could hope to get, before she would have to sleep the day's events off – sugar or no.

She was halfway through her second energy bar, when he heard a small “uhm” from her to get his attention.

“Yes?” He asked her, without taking his eyes off her datapad, pretending to be far more interested in it than he really was. Even if the encryption was of a higher level than he expected of a random wanderer, it would not pose a real challenge and for now he was more interested in her reactions.

“Uhh, d'you have any water, sir?” She spoke around a mouthful of sticky, chewy whatever was in those levo rations. Under such circumstances it was impossible to tell, whether she was still slurring her words. Her movement patterns were already becoming less uncoordinated, so there was some hope for her conversational skills to have improved as well.

“Yes.” He would have a little fun, so he waited to see how long she would take to realise.

Not long, it turned out. She immediately caught on to what he was doing and followed up: “Can I have some, please?”

He wordlessly handed her the bottle of water he had brought, anticipating her need and not knowing if she had any with her.

“Why have you bothered to encrypt your datapad?” He asked her in the middle of two gulps of water. She grunted in reply, lowered the bottle and wiped her mouth.

“Same reason anyone might encrypt anything else, I imagine,” she responded, her speech now clear, even if her voice was still strained. “It contains private information.” Short pause. “Sir.”

“Why not just keep it on your omnitool?”

She ducked her head a little. “There's a lot of it.” She stuffed the latter half of her second bar into her mouth, chewed far more energetically than before, and washed it down with more water.

“Fascinating. What is a human...” He spat out the word. “... doing in the Terminus with a lot of confidential information? Espionage?”

She wolfed down the third bar faster than the previous two and made him realise just how exhausted she had been to not even be able to chew properly before now. “No. It's personal,” she said while she hurriedly finished the last of the chewy thing. Before she could take the last gulp of water, however, he reached out and placed the sharp point of a talon on the soft underside of her chin and turned her head, forcing her to look at him. He made sure there was audible menace in his tones – even to a human.

“Why do I find that hard to believe?”

She slowly lowered the hand with the water bottle, as she met his eyes. “I wouldn't know, sir.”

He looked at her through narrowed eyes and pushed the talon tip a little harder against her skin.

“Sorry, sorry, sir. It's the truth! It **is** personal.” She held a hand up in that typical placating gesture. He searched her eyes for any indication that she was testing him, but he found none. “Uhh, may I take the last drink? Sir? Then I'll answer any questions you have.” Her speech was becoming clearer by the second. Amazing what a little sugar did for a crashed biotic. He knew it well enough himself.

He removed his talon. “Of course you will. That was never in any doubt.” That, at least, caused a brief flash of fear in her eyes.

“Yeah, I guess not,” she admitted and looked away, “but I'm still kinda hoping, I'll get out of here alive. Maybe even in one piece.”

“And why wouldn't you? So far you have done nothing to impede my work.”

“Uhh, no offense, sir, but you do have a reputation.”

He snorted – the only response it deserved. “I'm aware of my reputation, human. However much I would enjoy to relieve the galaxy of a few more of your kind, I still answer to the Council, who would very much disapprove of such actions. So contrary to popular belief, I do not murder people, not even humans. Not without reason, at least. So just don't give me one.”

Her look was considering. Evaluating. Then she nodded, emptied the bottle, and handed it back to him. “Thank you, sir.” He accepted it with a nod of his own, and she wriggled around to sit with her back against the wall before she continued. “So, what d'you wanna know?”

“How about you start with why you thought it was a good idea to get involved in a street shoot-out?”

Her eyebrows rose, but she quickly lowered them again and shrugged. “Well, someone needed to cover those kids, and you were kinda busy keeping the mercs at a distance. I thought my help might be appreciated.”

He could not entirely refute her assessment of the situation. “And what made you so certain you were jumping in on the right side of the conflict? Or was that just a lucky guess? Are you the habitually meddlesome type?”

She guffawed. “Hardly, sir. I heard one of them say it was a Spectre down there, before I slit his throat. I felt pretty certain a Spectre would not be abducting children. Besides, I'd been keeping an eye on them for a few days.”

Saren nodded thoughtfully. “The perch atop the building across. I found traces of another observer.”

“Yeah, that'll have been me. If you hadn't gotten there first, I would've had to make an attempt at freeing them later this night cycle. They were running out of time.”

“Out of time?” Once again he narrowed his eyes at her. “What do you mean?”

“Another day, two at the most, and they would've been moved off Omega to spirits know where.” She shook her head. “I admit, I was getting desperate. I wouldn't have had anywhere to take them, but by the end of this night I would have done something. Good thing you got here in time, sir.”

“Back up. Moved to where? By whom?”

“You mean, you don't know?” There was undisguised suspicion in her eyes as she studied him.

“Just answer the question.” He had received his mission brief on fairly short notice. Without the usual amount of time to look into it, it had seemed more urgent to get the kids to safety and then look for intel afterwards.

She studied him curiously, but eventually just sighed. “Not all that much I can tell you, unfortunately.” That did not ring entirely true in his ears, but he could always follow up on it later. “It's an organisation – that much I do know, but I haven't been able to pin them down. And the only one of their facilities I ever managed to find was abandoned.”

“Sounds like a tall tale, pyjak. Why should I believe you? There was nothing indicating anything of the sort in my mission brief.”

Apparently it was her turn to narrow her eyes at him now. “Pardon my asking, sir, but how do you get your mission briefs? Who puts them together?”

“That's not for you to know.” And he was not beyond looming a little to intimidate the seated woman in front of him.

“But...” She stopped herself. “Nevermind. Ahh... shit.”

“What do you know about this? I suggest you don't try to keep information from me.” He paused and pretended to have just thought of the correction. “No, by all means, do try. Do feel free to try it.”

“I know, I know, I just...” She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oh, this is a right mess. How do I even know I can trust you with this?” She looked up at him, doubts warring on her features. He recalled his own misgivings about what had seemed like a trap. Once things had gotten heated he had not had time to consider it further, but now he had his hands on someone who might know more.

“You don't know,” he told her, “but since I'm an armed Spectre, and you are currently unarmed and un-amped on board my ship, I suggest you make your decision quickly.”

“Oh, you gotta be shittin' me. Look, Spectre, Arterius, Sir, this thing – this case – is not a single occasion-thing. It goes deeper than that. I've been digging around in it for months now. I've had some luck with some leads, but others just land me face-planted against this goddamned wall called bureaucracy and fuckin' red tape. This shit goes high up, way high, I'm certain of it, and I'd really fuckin' like to know, whether you gonna take those children to someone who'll 'disappear' them, because they might be inconvenient eyewitnesses. For all I know, you could be taking orders from the same damn fuckers who're involved in this shit.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him defiantly, expectantly, and – he was pleased to note – nervously, too. She knew very well what she had just done.

“Really,” he purred at her. Gleeful that she had talked back to him. All he had wanted was an excuse, and she had given him just that, and by the looks of it she knew it and was already regretting her words. “That's how you want to play it? That's fine by me. Let us just do it somewhere, where the children won't hear, shall we? Inconvenient eyewitnesses and all that.”

He got a solid grip on her fringe and lifted her to her feet by it. She grunted in pain, but kept it down with a glance at the door, behind which all the children were resting. Instinctively her hands sought out his fingers and tried to loosen his grip. He marched her off around a corner and into the little cabin he occasionally used as a cell, but more often as guest room and storage space. It was not often he took prisoners.

Closing the door behind him he slammed her face first into the wall and pushed up against her. One of her hands were still clutching at his own lodged in her fringe and the other desperately sought to push against the wall to give her breathing space.

“Listen here, you pathetic little pyjak, I'm a Council Spectre, not some hired goon who runs errands for local crime lords, and for you to insinuate something of the sort will get very unhealthy for you, very fast. Understand?”

Another pained grunt sounded from between himself and the wall, and he stepped back to turn her around.

A trickle of red ran from her nose to her upper lip and her eyes were back to looking dazed again. Her small digits were still grasping for purchase on his hand. He curled his fingers slightly, pricking her scalp with his talons, even just a little bit. She stilled, and her free hand came to rest on the front of his armour. She did not try to push him away, though. Impressive restraint.

“Do you understand?” He repeated at her.

She looked up at him, righteous fury burning in her eyes. When she spoke, it was with a forceful growl he would not have guessed humans could even produce. “I have worked for too long and come too far to see all my work smashed to pieces just because your overgrown ego refuses to look critically at your own superiors. Too much is at stake. Too many innocent lives. Do **you** understand that?”

She was made of stern stuff, that much he had to admit. “So why even step in to help me in the first place?”

“I didn't do it for you, you self-centered fuckwad. I did it for the little ones.” She attempted to jerk her head towards the door, but had apparently forgotten his hold on her.

“And yet there's not a single human among them. Since when does a human care for other races?”

“You don't get it, do you?” Her eyes held his insistently. “Just because you can't stand any race but your own, doesn't mean everybody else thinks like that. I don't give a single shit what colour your blood is or how your face is configured. You don't harm children, any children, ever. Not if I can prevent it.”

“And you think you can?” Strong biotic or not, her accusations about the size of his ego fell a little flat when delivered with such arrogance.

She blinked. Stunned. “What?”

“You think you know what's going on? You also think you can stop it?”

“Y- yes...”

“Why not do so, then? Since you're feeling so righteous about it.”

“Because I can't do it alone, dumbass. I hoped a Spectre – and a turian at that – would have enough honour and integrity to want to work this case to the bottom.” She spat out the words, leaving little red droplets on his black armour. “Guess I was wrong on all counts, huh?”

He glared at her but reined in the impulse to just kill her and be done with it. Despite his reputation and her accusations about his integrity he did not in fact just kill pointlessly. Besides, she still knew something and he needed to know what.

Bending down to look straight into her eyes, their noses almost touching, he spoke with that calm menace that usually worked so well. “You will tell me everything you know about this organisation, and you will start talking now, or I promise you, you will regret it deeply, before we have even reached the Citadel.”

He would admit to not being the best at reading human expressions, even if they were similar to what one might see in asari maidens, but the reactions in this particular human were so at odds with each other he almost chuckled. Hope, then dismay, hope again, and then back to the scowl that matched the bleeding nose better.

“You're taking us to the Citadel...”

“Yes. The children hail from a number of different places. The Citadel seems the most logical place from which to get them to their families.” He did not owe her that explanation, but so far she had actually responded better to conversation than threats. Humans were mad. No sense of self-preservation. Too bad he wanted to know what she knew.

“I... I'm glad to hear that.” He could believe that, as her relief was obvious in both tone and body language. She relaxed and even the hand poised on his chest plate dropped to her side. “I really do just want to keep the children safe, you know.”

“And what makes you think I don't? And do I need to warn you off insulting my integrity and honour again?” He let go of her fringe allowing her to shake her head.

“No, sir, you made your point.” She sighed in resignation. “Nonetheless I stand by what I said about your superiors. I don't know how far this reaches, but even people with no ill intentions can be manipulated.”

He snorted and tried to recall exactly what Tevos had said, when she gave him his orders. Time had been of the essence and for that reason he had not questioned too much. Perhaps that had been the whole point of it. And it still begged the question, who had the trap been for?

“Very well, human. Let us say I believe you. Do you have any evidence to support your story?”

It was her time to snort, then. “Sir, I may not be a Spectre, but I used to run search and rescue ops on cases authorities wouldn't touch.”

“A mercenary yourself. I see.”

“Used to be.” She shrugged. “I'm on my own now.”

“And why is that?”

“Not really relevant to the case, sir. The point was, I'm not a complete imbecile at this. I just don't have a lot of resources at my disposal. That makes it hard to get any kinds of results.”

“So what do you have? Anything at all?”

“Good old-fashioned legwork does pay off sometimes. It was how I sniffed out that this group would hole up on Omega, before shipping out. It's amazing what people will tell you if they're drunk enough.”

“You like investigation? Why have you not applied for C-Sec? They opened their ranks to humans not too long ago.”

“You just had to go and ask, didn't you?”

“Ahh. Something you don't want to talk about?”

“I'd much rather talk about the case of the child abductions. If you're gonna work that case honestly, I'll give you everything I have on it, but I don't see how anything else about me is in any way your concern.”

“You're on my ship, human. If I decide the colour of your undersuit is a safety concern of mine, then it is.”

She sighed. Frustrated by the sound of it. “What guarantee do I have that you'll actually do something about this?”

“None.” He could see what was happening. She was not going to bend to his threats. Though he might have managed to scare her a little, she would not compromise an investigation for her own safety; something he might have appreciated if she had been turian, but she was not, so right now it was a hindrance in his way. Her knowledge of the case so far might be essential, depending on whether she exaggerated her results, but in order to find that out, he would need to ensure her cooperation. And apparently a route without threats would work best. Damn his luck.

She was still looking at him expectantly. It was his gambit. He sighed and snarled half-heartedly at her, having made a decision he knew he was going to hate. “You'll be my guest here until you have given me the information I want-”

“Your prisoner, you mean.” She glared and managed to look nearly as disdainful as he felt.

“My guest. And you will stay until I have been able to corroborate and verify a sufficient portion of your intel. I'm not letting you go as long as I think you might be sitting on valuable leads, bur nor do I particularly enjoy the idea of human companionship for any length of time. That will motivate the both of us to work and share information quickly. Does that sound reasonable to you?”

She looked surprised. “I... uhhh... yeah. I guess, I can work with that.” She paused, but apparently thought of something. “One condition.”

“What?”

“I want to see the kids re-united with their guardians. Any idiot can say they did it, but no one can fake a happy child.”

He considered her suggestion. He was inclined to agree with her. Getting children to act happy if they were scared was unlikely. But whether she would be able to tell one from the other was doubtful. “And how would you determine the emotional state of a turian child?”

“Former mercenary, remember?” She pointed at herself with a raised eyebrow and a smarmy grin that made him want to rip her head off. “Spent a good deal of time around your kind. Gotten to know enough of you well enough to tell such things.”

“Very well. I will ensure that at least those guardians and parents who are able will meet us by the dock at the Citadel, so you can see the re-unions. They won't all be able to be there.”

“Obviously. It's good enough for me.” She sent him a lop-sided smile. Cocky. “So, where do I deliver my case file?”

“You keep a case file.”

“Of course. I told you, I'd been at this for months. My memory isn't too shitty, but I can't remember everything. Especially not intel I pick up in between fights. Brain gets a little, uhhh, you know...”

He did know. He knew all too well, in fact. It was part of the reason his own thoughts about the possible trap had not recurred to him until this conversation. Draining your biotics really could tank your recollections for a while.

He told her where to send the file, and as it pinged into his messages, taking up more memory than his last ten case files combined, he began to admit to himself that the woman in front of him might actually contribute with something real. He decided to test her thinking.

“If I told you that the ratio of kidnappers to kids seemed off to me, and that the amount of mercs shooting at us in the alley did not at all line up with any other intel I had on the operation, what would you think about that?”

“Trap, obviously,” she responded with a shrug.

“And with your knowledge of the case?”

She hesitated slightly and chewed a bit on her lower lip before she answered. “Well, considering how I found out about their operation – from the mercs themselves – someone higher up in their organisation may simply have decided this team of goons had become a liability and then intentionally leaked this particular operation to authorities to ensure that their leaky troops were taken care of. You Spectres do have a reputation for thorough clean-up jobs, after all.”

She thought for a bit longer. “There's also the option of internal conflicts and people on the inside sabotaging each other's projects. I don't know how realistic that hypothesis is. I don't know enough about that layer. And finally there's the option that someone in the org is currying favour with someone whose child is among those we saved.”

Saren nodded slowly. It was sure to be an interesting case file if these were the theories she sprouted at that simple question. He backed towards the door and gestured at the cot in the corner.

“You should get some sleep,” he ordered her. “I have a bit of reading to do. Before you do that, though, I had hoped you would simply be polite and introduce yourself like a civilized person, but that was apparently too much to expect.”

She winced at his little dig. “And I had sorta hoped you would forget about it and be more interested in the case than in me.”

“Oh, really? And why is that?” He stepped nearer to her again. Deliberately taking on a threatening posture.

She glared back at him defiantly and said nothing.

“Who are you, human?”

Her jaw clenched before she spoke: “No one important.”

“I'll be the judge of that, pyjak.” He stepped into her personal space. She was as tall as many of the males of her species he had met. Or fought. “Who are you? Don't make us have to start our negotiations all over.”

She stood her ground. “We won't have to. You already have my case file.”

“And so you have nothing left to bargain with.”

“You won't be saying that once you've read it.”

“Who are you, human? And why do you pursue a case like this for no pay, and at risk to yourself?”

“I told you. You don't go after people's little ones. Not on my watch.”

“And why would you consider that 'your watch', as you say? What is your involvement here? Past job you regret? Trying to atone for something?” Her eyes flashed. That one had stung. He continued: “That's it, isn't it? How many children have **you** killed?”

He had not expected her to move so fast, so he was not at all prepared for it, when her fist slammed into his left cheek and mandible. He would never have expected her to be quite so strong either, and so, when he held her by the throat and pushed her against the wall, he noticed the faint taste of blood around a loose tooth.

She was struggling but without much fervour. Lack of air would do that. He leaned in close to her face, and let her have some air. “Hit the mark, did I? So how many children is it?”

“Fuck you, you dimwitted, barefaced motherfucker!” He cut off her air supply again.

“Wrong answer, human. You're obviously on the run, so you may as well confess. I'll find out sooner or later. It's what I do. Only unlike you, I get paid for it.”

It took her a little while yet, before she stopped struggling for breath.

“Ready to talk? In a civilised manner this time?”

Her eyes signalled all the defeat he needed to see, and he let her have her air before she even started nodding in agreement. She coughed a little.

“So? Let's hear it.”

“I haven't killed any children, you f-,” she cut herself off.

He decided to let her half-formed insult slide. “I don't believe that. Try again.”

“I haven't. It's the truth. I...” She looked away briefly and shrank a bit, before she found some resolve and looked back up into his eyes. “I used to **be** one of those children. That's why you don't go after children on my watch.”

Pieces clicked into place for him then and he reached up to touch the amp ports at the back of her head. She clearly understood his unspoken question. “Don't,” she said, “just don't. Not now.”

She ducked under his arm and around him and he let her pick up the datapad she had claimed contained personal information. Activating her omnitool she opened up the encryption and handed it to him. Even the brief glance he afforded himself at the contents told him he had struck gold with this one. His patience and self-restraint had once again paid off. “Name's Namira. Namira Hamid,” she muttered. “Or at least, that's the name they said was mine. Dunno if it's true, but it's been my name for so many years now, it might as well be. It's all in there.”

He watched, bemused, as she shrugged and turned to go sit on the cot. “Fuck off, Arterius.” She kicked off her boots. “I hope you can stop those fuckers, I really do. They've been at it for years. And after that you can kindly go throw your ass into a medium-sized star. That'd be mighty fine.”

He wanted to laugh. He really did, but that would completely ruin his reputation for not having a sense of humour. Or it might bolster his reputation for being a sadistic monster. If being insulted for his lack of clan markings always came with such a wealth of information in its wake it might even be worth it to tolerate it a little more often. As it was, he had gotten everything he wanted out of the woman for now, even if he had had to be slightly unconventional – even by his standards – about it.

“Get some sleep,” he ordered her again as he left her in the cabin.

Locking the door he heard her grumble “Fuck off, Arterius,” once more. Amused, he shook his head. Next he would need to find out how much of her volatility would remain once she was rested. It would determine whether he would prioritize getting everything out of her and send her on her way, or actually put her to use. Expendable assets who could take care of themselves could be very useful, indeed, but only if she could behave herself. She had gotten the message after punching him, he was certain, but if there was even so much as a hint of a repeat performance of that, she would not be leaving his ship alive.

For now he had some reading to do.

 


	3. Cooperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They don't like each other. They don't have to either. But they can establish an understanding. For now. How long it will last remains to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written to the mood of [My Nightmare by Ewan Dobson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r3Ezcu9oSrc)

Waking up felt like swimming through sludge, struggling to get to the surface. She must have really overdone the biotics last night. What the fuck had she been doing anyway? Slowly, very slowly, she regained some sense of having a physical body; one that was not miles away, even. The attempt at opening her eyes was brief, as the bright light lanced painfully through her brain.

“Ugh, why you gotta be such a dumbass...” she grumbled to herself, keeping her eyes firmly shut, and trying to take stock of her body.

All limbs in place. Check. Undersuit still on. Check. Clothes. Nope. And her thigh hurt. The fuck **had** she been doing last night?

Think. She needed to think. Where was she? Omega. Right? No. That did not feel quite right. She had been on Omega, of that she was sure. And then... the kids. The kids! She sat up abruptly and looked around, slightly panicked, and regretted it soon after as the nausea struck and her stomach growled and complained. Where **were** the kids?

She looked around. No kids. Small room. Blood on one wall. Red. Images flashed through her mind. Hers. It was her blood. Unconsciously she touched her nose. She was absolutely certain she had gotten a nosebleed, but there was no sign of it now.

“Think, you idiot. Think! What happened?”

Her stomach growled again. Looking around for something to eat she found nothing, but in a small pile next to the cot lay her clothes neatly folded. Her cargo pants, the hooded sweatshirt, her socks were all there. The holsters and sheaths for her guns and knives were there, too, but none of the contents were to be seen. Her boots lay discarded on the floor. More images flashed before her eyes. She had kicked them off herself. Left them where they lay now. She definitely had not taken off her clothes, though. She would never have arranged them so neatly. Not in a million years. So if not herself, then who?

Namira gingerly prodded her right thigh through the tear in her undersuit. She would have to see about getting a new one. This one was not going to last through all that many more repairs. Whoever had undressed her had also cleaned her leg wound. Not a severe injury, really, but someone had thought to clean it nonetheless.

Someone...

Someone who had also given her a bloody nose.

And whom she had punched in return.

Someone turian...

Oh...

Oh no...

Oh shit no.

She had punched him. She had punched Saren Arterius. How was she not dead?

Slowly she forced the events of the night before into her mind again. They had saved the kids. Even the wounded asari child had been alright in the end – if a bit worse for wear. She had hoped for help, and a Spectre had shown up. She supposed that counted for a kind of help. Sort of. Maybe. Hopefully.

She recalled Doran sitting down heavily after a job well done. After that her recollections were patchy to say the least. Arterius had spoken to her, confiscated her weapons – well, that explained the empty holsters – her amps. She reached for her ports. Empty still. That was to be expected. He would have had no reason to give them back.

They had spoken. Namira wracked her brain to piece all of it together, but she came up short. He had made threats, and she had seen no other option than to tell him the truth and give him what she knew about the abductions. Fuck, she hoped he would be as good as his reputation and solve the case. If he would just drop her off in the first spaceport, she would happily be on her way. She would swear a solemn oath to never cross his path again if he so wished. Not that that was likely; she had punched him, and now he was probably thinking up various, painful ways to kill her.

She eyed the door of the small cabin. Was there a point in going all the way over there and trying it? Nah. It would be locked. Without a single doubt. She lay back down on the cot, taking note of the slight vibrations from the ship. They were still en route, then. To the Citadel, he had said. Might as well get some more sleep before the one-turian firing squad hauled her out to her death.

She had punched Saren Arterius. She was so dead.

* * *

“Wake up, human.” A heavy hand shook her shoulder, accompanying the gentle vibrations of his voice, and she grunted unhappily before she remembered where she was. Omega. The kids. Saren. Fuck. She sat up as fast as she could manage, which was not terribly impressive.

He stepped away from her, and she swung her legs out of bed and sat, elbows on her knees, trying to think of what she could do to have any hope of surviving this.

“Functional?” She heard the impatience in his subvocals. Right, he probably wanted to interrogate her some more. That would be fun.

“Mostly,” she told him and dared to sneak a glance at his face. He was looking at her with an odd expression. “You cleaned my wound.”

“You'd be no use to me feverish from infection. Here.” He handed her a bundle of ration packs.

“Ugh, thank you, sir. I feel like I've been trying to drink a krogan under the table. Only hungrier. How long was I out?”

“Seventeen hours.”

“Aw fuck, no wonder my brain hasn't caught up to reality yet.”

“How much do you remember?” His tone was clipped and neutral.

She thought for a bit and tried to piece together a timeline of events. Apparently she was not fast enough.

“Well? Answer me.” There was only a hint of menace in his tone, but it was plenty. After their last interaction she did not want to risk pissing him off at all. Not the least little bit.

“Uhh, I'm a bit fuzzy on the recollections still, sir. Sorry.”

“Summarize what you remember.”

“I got the children settled. Not sure how I got from A to B after that. I, errr, vaguely remember your fingers round my neck...” She trailed off as she also remembered how they had reminded her of someone else. She kicked down that thought and buried it deep. Now was definitely not the time. “... that must have been when you took my amps and weapons?”

He nodded curtly. “And?”

She looked at the floor, annoyed with herself that she had lost her temper. Spirits, she hoped she could placate him enough so that he would let her live. “We spoke. Among other things.”

The pregnant silence told her he wanted more than that.

“Sir, I won't pretend to know your methods nor your reasoning...” If, indeed, there had been any reasoning outside of sadism. “...but I realise you were baiting me. And I should not have risen to it and attacked you. That was unacceptable behaviour and I apologize.” The fucker damn well better appreciate that, she thought as she noted his mandibles flare slightly in surprise.

“Change of heart?”

“No, sir. I stand by everything I said.” This was a gamble, she knew, but so far he had been remarkably calm.

“Everything? Really?” Okay, maybe not so calm. There was that dangerous undertone again.

“With all due respect, sir, you **were** baiting me.” She made sure to make her grimace fairly clear. “I'm guessing you got exactly the reation you wanted, because I was too out of it to control my temper.”

“Am I to understand you meant every word you said, then?” She recognised the menacing grin in his subvocals. He had sounded exactly the same, when he had encouraged her to hide information from him. He was just looking for a reason, it told her. But he was here, obviously trying to get a handle on who she was. She might as well let him know. Cautiously.

She got up, mindful of her leg, which did not protest nearly as much as expected, and stood before him. For fuck's sake, why did turians have to be so much taller than everybody else? She was fairly tall herself, and still he stood taller. Deep breath. Swallow. Steel in your spine, woman. “To the extent that you meant the things you said to me, you may assume I probably meant what I said to you in roughly the same proportions.” There, that would either get his respect or get her killed. But it was who she was – when not exhausted beyond reason anyway.

The quiet amusement in his subvocals caught her by surprise. Apparently the same could be said for him, because he clamped down on it faster than a starving varren on fresh prey. “Being cheeky won't save your skin, human.”

She bit down on her tongue. Hard. And winced as a result. Unfortunately he saw that.

“What?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Wrong answer. Try again.”

Curse it, they had been down that road, and she had no desire to go there again. With a sigh she admitted: “Was just thinking 'no, but **you** having a sense of humour might'. Save my skin, that is. Sir.”

The considering glare he leveled at her unnerved her and she had to fight the urge to fidget. “How did you know?”

“Know what, sir?”

“My amusement would only have been audible in my subvocals. Humans cannot hear them. How did you know?”

Shit, she was just not at all properly awake yet. Such a stupid blunder. She tried to play it off with a shrug. “Would've told you anyway. I've got aural implants. Got a bit too close to an explosion some years back. Ear drums went buh bye, and I had to get implants to fix my hearing. Since I was working with a group of turians we all thought it would be neat if I could actually hear the communication going on, so we simply requested and paid for that spec.”

“And how does your translator work with it?” He sounded more interested than she had expected him to be, his tone being more curious than interrogative.

“It doesn't, sir. I had to learn it like a foreign language. A really foreign, foreign language.” It had taken her several months to even begin to get used to the different way the world sounded. Even more months to be able to interpret the new array of low-frequency sounds made available to her brain. At first it had been a terrifying noise overload that made conversations really difficult to follow, but after a while – a long while – she had adjusted. By now the subvocals of a turian voice simply added an emotive layer to their speech, just like the facial expressions of a human did. Where others heard that strange flanging effect, she could hear the tones and by now she had some experience in understanding what they meant.

“I did not know this was possible,” he admitted “How common is this?”

“Uh, I don't really know for certain. But it can't be that common. When I requested it, they had never heard of it done before. I doubt it'll win people over. It's kinda unpleasant until you get used to it. No, scratch that, it's still unpleasant even after that. Human brains aren't designed to process it. And it's a lot of work. Foreign language without the translator. And that's after the pain stops.”

“I see. Why is this not in your file?”

“You've read all of it already?”

“Answer the question!”

“Sorry, sir. Because that file contains other people's information about me, and mine about them. This was my own thing, and I don't feel the need to write down, why **I** choose to do things.”

“Hmm, that explains the dearth of information from recent years.”

“So you **have** read all of it?”

“Of course. Otherwise I wouldn't be speaking to you now.”

“But you must have come in to dress my wound at some point...?”

There was that odd look sent her way again. Why would he be looking at her like that? She decided against asking. Instead she decided to offer the olive branch that might keep her alive: “So, uhhh, now that I'm mostly awake, and a bit more... uhh, rational.” She made sure to emphasize her words with a self-deprecating shrug “...you said you'd have questions?”

“Indeed. Are you going to behave yourself?”

It was her turn to look surprised now. Nevermind that his tone had signalled that he was talking to a child – she would not rise to anymore bait – the question seemed genuine enough. “Uhh sir?”

“I won't repeat myself.” His mandibles drew tight along his jaw. Shit, she did not at all have a handle on what ticked him off – or whether he was just acting to keep her guessing.

She swallowed a lump. She had worked with turians, become friends with turians, but this one was completely beyond all of her knowledge and experience. “I- I'll be on my best behaviour, sir.”

His eyes narrowed. “See that your best is good enough, human. Now, get dressed. Some of the kids have asked for you. They've been expressing concern for your well-being. They don't seem to think you're safe around me.” He sneered so derisively, she barely caught the hint of sarcasm.

“Yeah, can't imagine why that would be.” She rubbed her nose with an exaggerated gesture, hoping that responding with humour in kind would be the right strategy. “It's not like you look dangerous or anything.”

His mandibles fluttered, but he kept a tight check on his subvocals, not allowing her to hear whether he had found her response at all humourous. “Go reassure them. And then we'll have a thorough chat about this case. You have about eight hours to prove your usefulness.”

“Yes, sir. Will do.” Following orders was easy enough and all of a sudden she was very happy she had not been in the habit of commanding anything. That might have made things difficult. She had taken a subordinate role with the merc crew back then, and keeping a low profile had generally been her preferred mode; within the crew as well as without. She quickly got dressed, leaving the empty weapon holsters by the bed. It was a fairly safe bet he would not be handing back her guns anytime soon.

He waited patiently, standing stock still and observing her to the point, where she was so unnerved she thought she might start fumbling everything from sheer intimidation. From what she had seen so far, he was probably perfectly aware of her unease. Probably even enjoyed it. Sadistic fuck. Her leg, she was pleased to note, did not complain as much as she had expected. Seventeen hours spent horizontally left her with so few pains that she could suppress any inclination to limp. Still uncomfortable, mind you, but it saved her the mockery.

Ready to go she stood before him again expecting a disparaging comment or at least an order. He jerked his head towards the door. She went and he followed close behind her. The strong presence of a turian at her back. Damn. She was used to that making her feel protected. Now? Not so much. She mentally shook herself. It was she who decided to step up and step in and get mixed up with Spectre-business. She had only herself to blame, even if this had been and continued to be her best chance at stopping those assholes.

* * *

Having shared a meal with the little ones and reassuring them that she was alright 'Fine, just tired and groggy', and answered their barrage of questions 'No, it's not covered in skin like your fringe. It's called hair. It's braided', 'Yeah, alright, go ahead and feel it, kiddo', and 'No, there's nothing wrong with my palms. They're supposed to be paler than the rest. Like the contrast between your plates and hide', she was about ready to go back to sleep. Apparently they had not had much contact with humans before her. Suddenly she was even more grateful that Arterius had shown up, when he had. How she would have calmed this bunch of kids, whose primary experience with humans before her had been the ones among their kidnappers, she did not know.

After a while of their questioning the flanged voice of the only other adult on board halted the chatter. “I'll have to deprive you of your zoo exhibit. Hamid, with me.” She raised an eyebrow at him as she got up from her seated position on the floor among the children. He just could not leave off an opportunity to insult her. Grumbling inwardly she reminded herself that she could bear it if it meant he would help her take down her target. She could and she would. What he thought of her was non-essential as long as her mission could go on. What she thought of him? Well, she had already told him to off himself once the whole thing was over. It would probably be bad for her health to repeat that suggestion, even if she did still think the galaxy would be a better place without sadistic bastards like Arterius. No matter how skilled a Spectre he was.

He led her into another cabin this time. It looked more like an office of sorts. Mentally mapping out what she had seen of the ship so far she came up with too little room. Not being overly familiar with the class, she still had a pretty good idea of the engine and weapons systems and how much space they would take up, and knowing his reputation he might even have expanded on the latter. The cargo hold, where the children were currently sleeping on cots and mattresses, had clearly been arranged to serve as an all-purpose area with mats for sparring – currently stacked away – a kitchen module, and work tables for both weapons and tech. It did not require any amount of genius to figure out that many of the crates and lockers probably held weapons and tech. Locked away securely so the young passengers would not get to them.

In fact, if she was not completely mistaken, his all-purpose area had been expanded by including what would once have been a hab-cabin. That would also explain why there was a washroom connected to the area. Thinking about it, she decided it made sense, to have a washroom connected to an area for sparring and other exercise. That, however, begged the question: Who the fuck would he spar with? His reputation said he worked alone

The small cabin, where she had slept was clearly used for storage. And the room where he was now offering, no, ordering her to sit, held several terminals, a table clearly meant for strategic lay-outs, and what looked a bit like an office environment with a desk and few chairs; comfortable chairs even. She sighed in contentment as she sank into one of them, not caring one swit about the turian's disdainful toss of his head. Another door lead on from this room, and it fit pretty well with a deck plan having the washrooms back to back. But where did he sleep? There was no bed in this room. She doubted he would have put her in his own sleeping quarters, not to mention how he would never put up with a simple cot, when he had chairs like these. Namira was fairly certain everything was accounted for in her mental map, so where the fuck  **did** he sleep?

She studied him as he sat across from her. He studied her in return. Watching. Waiting. Though she could not tell what he might be waiting for. He sat, casually leaned back in the chair, putting both arms on the arm rests. Perfectly relaxed, slightly bored, as if he were just awaiting the beginning of a routine meeting with a financial advisor with no interesting news. And he was scrutinizing her. Damned turians and their piercing eyes. She felt like a deer caught in the headlights, though she tried to hide that fact by keeping her arms crossed and looking surly. Dammit, she was stronger than this. Sure, he had baited her and roughed her up some, but nothing too serious, and the simple fact that she was still alive spoke volumes. Now that she really thought about it, the fact that she had just shared a meal with the kids, indicated that he had already decided to keep her alive at least until The Citadel. Otherwise he would not have let them socialise. Would he? Might he be that cruel to innocent children? Not likely. Cruel he might be, but only if he felt it was deserved, justified. No. She was certain. She was safe at least until The Citadel. Unless she fucked up, of course. Best try not to do that.

She let out a slow breath and tried to wipe the heavy scowl off her face, uncrossing her arms and gesturing at the table between them, where her datapad currently lay along with another. An educated guess would be that he had dumped the case file on a pad as well. Easier to read that way. “So... sir?”

“Finally,” he said. “Prepared to discuss the case?”

Had he just been waiting for that? Namira decided that should she ever come across a competition in patience, her creds would have to be on Arterius. He was frightening. She nodded, folded her hands in her lap and waited for his questions.

“First things first, are you certain the people we intercepted on Omega are really a part of this? You're not just imagining connections anywhere you see a child in trouble?”

“Absolutely certain, sir. They got their orders from someone outside of the operation on Omega. And I'm almost positive I recognised one of their safehouse guards from another op. And with all due respect, sir, children get in trouble all the time, all over the galaxy. But not this kind. I can tell the difference.”

The way he evaluated her words, though unnerving, at least told her he was taking the matter seriously. Seriously enough to make a point of trying to discern to truth of her statements. He would be a poor investigator, were he not diligent in such things. Just because  **she** knew she was telling the truth, he could not be expected to take her at her word. She needed to remind herself of that. Be patient – as patient as he seemed capable of being.

“Very well,” he finally said. “Your case file is unexpectedly thorough, human, I'll give you that.” She forced down the disdainful snort that threatened to emerge from her. Antagonizing Saren Arterius? Worst idea ever. Instead she just nodded, accepting the compliment wrapped in an insult.

He continued: “I asked you for some speculations regarding the trap they sprung on us. You came up with three possible scenarios. I see nothing of the sort in your case file. Why is that? Need someone to ask you questions to get you to think?”

Another insult – and hardly even veiled at that – oh, he was definitely testing her, seeing if she would get angry again. She resolved to maintain her calm, and let out a slight laugh instead, as if he had made a joke. “Hardly, sir. I avoid writing down my speculations, so I don't risk locking on to one neat little theory and miss something important that might have been found along other paths of inquiry. If I only write down facts and observations, speculations will be fresh and potentially useful everytime I review my file.”

“I see.” She could tell he had not expected her answer to be what it was, but what he thought of it was not clear to her. She decided to offer him something freely, hopefully showing him that she intended to cooperate fully and not just on demand.

“I think the closest I get to writing down speculations are my chaotic-looking doodles of potential connections.”

He thumbed his datapad a number of times and flipped it so she could see her drawn handiwork of circles, lines, arrows, question marks and scribbled words. “These?”

She nodded and he shook his head, disapproval evident in drooping flare of his mandibles. “You have atrocious hand-writing. Even for a human.”

“Heh, yeah, I know.” She shrugged, attempting a lighter mood. “A friend of mine always told me I should've been a doctor with hand-writing like that. I guess she'd know – she **was** one.” 

“Where would you want to go next, if you had the choice?”

“Uhh sir?”

“Your leads. You have several, and it's plain to see more than half of them are out of your reach. If they were not, which would you prioritize? And why?”

She had to consider that question carefully. “Some of my leads will be cold by now. I know from my own past that they move around and abandon facilities regularly, so after a certain point it'll be limited how much you might gain from looking up those places. Other than maybe salvaging shit random looters haven't already.”

Arterius nodded and motioned for her to go on. “However...?”

“Well... generally I've had an easier time checking up on things in places, where ships take passengers, so I'm kind of in the dark about much of what they might be hiding in the Terminus Systems. It's why I've been moseying about out there for a while now, but progress is hella slow, when getting from place to place is a mission all on its own.”

“And that's what makes the Terminus such a good place to hide things in,” he finished her train of thought. “You have a specific place in mind, don't you?”

“Maybe,” she admitted. “I don't know whether there's anything to it, but generally the pattern has been that by the time I've got 100 % confirmation that a location is of interest, they've moved on, and the trail is cold. If I have the opportunity, I'd start hitting up some of those places, where I'm only, say, 60 % certain of its significance, and then hope that I'd get there before they evac the site.”

“The place.”

“Nutus. Or rather, one of its moons.”

“Those are turian colonies.” The anger in his tone was not lost on her.

“I know. What better place to hide away a human supremacist operation? No one would think to look there.”

Namira had never considered herself the nervous type, but the way he looked at her made her skin crawl. Especially since he was absent-mindedly playing with the talons on his left hand, making it obvious how extremely sharp he kept them. Perhaps it was far from an absent-minded habit, come to think of it. She decided to keep talking. “There's also Taitus. Admittedly the hints are much weaker in that direction, but hiding a research facility in one of the abandoned staging bases could also make sense.”

“How do you know of that? Maitrum is not exactly common knowledge outside the Hierarchy.”

“I, uhhh, heh, oh, what the heck. Working with turians, remember?” She pointed at herself and smiled awkwardly at him, hoping the levity would not be too ill-received. “Few years back, we took on a job to track down a deserter. Or rather, we **made** a job of it. The boss had lost a lot of comrades in an accidental explosion back when he was in the military. Everyone **thought** it had been an accident anyway. Only two survivors, one of them being the one who went on to become my boss, the other so severely wounded she would never enter active service again. And then several years later, we're running an op out in the Terminus, stopping over on Erinle to refuel, and then the boss suddenly goes completely frozen, because at the other end of the little eatery, there's one of those comrades, who were supposed to have died in that explosion. He recognised the boss and made a run for it. Led us on a merry chase, too, until we finally caught him. As far as I know he's still rotting on Maitrum, where we were ordered to deliver him for interrogation, when the boss called home and told them what we'd found.”

She shuddered at the memory.

“Honour and integrity might be a thing for you turians, but I swear, that place gives me the creeps. Ain't got neither honour nor integrity there, that's for sure.”

“Is it really possible to scare someone straight, then?”

She snorted and then stopped herself. Wait, he had made a joke. “Don't think that would work on me, sir. Been spending so much time locked up, and I ain't no straighter for it.”

“You've been imprisoned then? Aside from your early captivity?” He gestured haphazardly at the datapad with her personal files.

“Heh, yeah. You might even have the file on it.”

“Why would I have that?”

“Because I owe that stay to a couple of your colleagues, asari. Dunno if Spectres keep archives, but if you do, it oughtta be there.”

“Really...? And now you're proposing I work with you? A little presumptious, aren't you?”

She looked at him as carefully neutral as she could. “No, sir, I'm proposing that you do what you can to stop all this bullshit from happening to those children. I, technically, don't have to be there for that.” She would want to be there, no doubt about it. There were a few messages she would love to impart to certain people in person. Painfully.

Again that considering look.

“Look, sir. I don't care what you think of me or of humanity. It's not exactly of importance what I think of you either. I'm not here to prove a single fucking thing to anybody. I just wanna stop these bastards...” She leaned forward and placed her forearms on the desk. “...and if you're going after them, then you have my full and unconditional support for it, if you want it. No questions asked. You point, I'll shockwave 'em or whatever.”

“Is that so...?”

“It is,” she confirmed as vehemently as she could without sounding angry. “I won't deny there's a good part of me that's also looking for revenge, but let's face it, I'm thirty years old. By now several of the older members of the group that began shit with me will be dead from plain old age. This particular dish is being served so cold it's close to becoming pointless, but they still need to be stopped, and, well, you're in a position to do so.”

“Indeed.” He let silence fall once more, and this time Namira did not have anything further to say, so she was left to her struggle against the urge to fidget. When had she developed that anyway? She had never been prone to that. It was not fucking fair that one turian could have such a presence. Not okay at all. She idly wondered if it was a Spectre kit or whether it was due to his plates being the colour of polished steel, giving the impression of natural armour. His presence was imposing and intimidating.

“What did you do that landed you in prison? Will it be a problem?”

She huffed, of course he would want to know. “Been operating in the Terminus for too long. Gotten used to there being no other authorities than whichever local leader we spoke to. Ended up back in Council Space and forgot that local leaders may not have the last word there. Over-stepped the wrong boundaries, pissed off the wrong people, and as it happened, two Spectres were out culling the mercenary population a bit. A tip-off told them where to find us, and they didn't much care that we weren't affiliated with any of the big gangs. We were mercs, and someone had a solid murder case against us. We had our collective asses handed to us.” She had no compunctions about letting the bitterness and sadness colour her voice. They had been friends. Losing them had devastated her. “I think only about half of our crew of ten survived. Maybe fewer. I don't know for certain. I spent three years behind bars after that.”

“That was hardly much for murder. And yet humans claim you aren't treated fairly. Seems to me you're getting preferential treatment.”

“Heh, and you'd be right if that were the case. They didn't let me out on good behaviour. They pawned me off to Purgatory, where they sold me right back to the bastards who fucked me up to begin with. Too bad nobody bothered to secure the transport very well. I escaped along the way.” She shrugged, as if the unpleasant memories could be shaken off. It never worked.

“Where did they intend to take you? Did you find out?”

“Hah! I wish. I might've gone there willingly. Not sure they would've really appreciated the present I would've brought for my gracious hosts, though.” She sent him her best sadistic grin, even if she was a bit out of practice.

To her surprise he answered it with the driest chuckle she ever heard – even from a turian. “I think we can find a way to work together, human. I knew Cerberus was bad news, but this reaches far beyond what I can ignore as just humans being annoying. It's my duty as a Spectre to do something about them.”

“Music to my ears, sir.”

“Maybe so, but listen carefully: My work is not to save lives. That is not what I do. Not yours, not anyone else's unless I am specifically ordered to do so by the Council. My job is to ensure galactic stability. The lives of a few brats mean nothing.”

“But sir...”

“Shut up! If you want to save children, you may do so, as long as you get them and yourself on board the ship in time for leaving. Otherwise you will be left behind.”

“So, what's to stop me from just staying behind, saving any children we may find, letting you be on your, uhhh, merry way?”

“I never leave a facility intact. Staying behind is... inadvisable.”

“I... oh. I see, sir. I, uhhh, guess I can work with that. Anything else?”

“Will you have a problem following orders?”

Namira was about to shake her head and point to how she had followed his lead on Omega, but she hesitated. Arterius' orders were not likely to all be of the perfectly savoury kind. Could she do it? It was her best – possibly only – chance for putting a stop to the Hephaestus project. Steeling herself, knowing she might yet live to regret it, she set her jaw and shook her head. “No, sir. No problem.”

* * *

She had watched from a distance, when the little ones were re-united with parents, guardians or others who would see to their care while on The Citadel. The injured asari, Vena was her name, had also been met by a doctor and had been ordered straight to the hospital, but all in all Namira had been satisfied that they would all be taken care of.

Arterius did not want anybody to know that he would be traveling with a human. Let the children talk about how a human jumped in to aid them. It was fact. But no one could know she would be on board when he left The Citadel again. Not a soul. She could live with that. She preferred flying under the radar anyway.

After the touching scenes by the docking bay, he had locked her in the small cabin on the ship. He had left, presumably to report to the council, leaving her bored out of her skull.

Traveling and working with Saren Arterius. She had to have gone mad to agree to that. Yup. Completely bonkers. No other explanation for it.

When he returned he was furious. She did not need to have even the slightest knowledge of him, nor even of turians in general to see it. He was practically fuming as he stood in the door to the cabin, fingers twitching as if wanting to rip something to shreds, and while his voice was calm his subvocals belied his rage.

“I don't suppose you've changed your mind about coming with me?”

Was he kicking her off anyway? “No, sir. As long as you're hunting them, then I'm with you. No conditions, no questions asked.”

He stared at her – or maybe it was a glare – for a while before shaking his head. “Humans are mad.” When he turned he left the door open. Five steps out she heard him call: “Well? Coming?”

She scrambled to her feet and hurried after him. Having been used to taking orders from a superior before, she nonetheless got the distinct impression this would be very different. He led her into the cargo hold. It was still a mess after having thirteen kids living there for a couple of days.

“I'm waiting for some intel. We're not shipping out before I get it. In the meantime this place needs cleaning. Get to work.”

There was no real surprise that he would have her doing menial work. It had to be done. What did surprise her was that he put in his share of the effort as well. He noticed her puzzled look. “What?”

“Nothing, sir.” She shook her head dismissively and went back to folding up blankets and clearing clutter from the floor.

He walked over to her and stepped straight into her personal space. “Clearly it was something. Out with it!”

“Just surprised to see you doing this, sir.”

He tilted his head as if puzzled. “I work alone. How do you imagine I normally keep the ship tidy? I assure you, I do not have a cleaning crew on hand in every port of call.”

She felt heat flood her cheeks, all the while trying to imagine what it would require for the Spectre to trust a cleaning crew to even just clean his floors. “I didn't think of that, sir. I'm not really used to... uhhh, I mean, usually anyone I call 'sir' will not be doing this kind of work right next to me.”

“Get used to the idea.” He made no further comment and walked back to where he was re-organising some of his supply crates. Clearly he had re-arranged them to accomodate the little ones and now they needed to be put back in an order she could not discern. Between the two of them they soon had the floor cleared and cleaned.

“Leave the mattresses and cots where you've put them. I had meant to dump them, but I expect you'll make sure we'll have need of them again.” Curse him, why did he have to sound so annoyed at that idea? She meant to get as many children as possible out of Cerberus' clutches, he was right about that. She just hoped he would not be rubbing off on her so much that she would forget it. That could not be allowed to happen.

“Yes, sir. Anything else you need me to do?”

“Not at the moment.” He busied himself with some weaponry that she dared not show an interest in for fear of arousing his suspicion – or ire.

“May I go shower, then?”

“By all means. You reek.” He gestured towards the washroom, but did not seem to care at all.

“Believe me, I'm aware,” she grinned at his back, unable to curb the anticipation of the first shower in more than a week.

The washroom was small but servicable. The shower had hot water. She had a days-old itch. This was going to be heaven. She wasted no time in shedding her clothes, peeling off the undersuit and stepping under the shower head. Though she intended to be quick and efficient, it was difficult to resist the temptation to enjoy it for an extra few minutes.

Stepping out again nearly gave her a heart attack. “Gah! Fuck! Arterius! How the fuck do you move so quietly?!”

“Practice,” he deadpanned and handed her a folded piece of clothing. “Turn around.”

“Wait, what? I'm the one who's naked, and you're telling **me** to turn around? Shouldn't it be the other way around?”

He just looked at her with that unnerving stare.

“Ugh, fine.” She turned her back to him, and tried to distract herself from the presence of the very dangerous turian right behind her by unfolding the cloth. “Shit, why are you giving me a new undersuit?”

“You needed one.” He lifted her hair out of the way and prodded at the skin around her ports and the muscles in her neck. “No after effects?”

He was confusing her a great deal. “Uhh no. I told you, I know my limits. Why are  **you** getting me a new undersuit?”

“I won't repeat myself. You will also need armour.” He let go of her hair again and she heard him step out of the washroom.

Turning to look she called after him: “I prefer no armour these days.”

He showed up in the door again, now holding something far more substantial than just an undersuit. “Your preference is immaterial. You will need armour. Put that on.” He nodded at the undersuit in her hands.

She held it up in front of her. He seemed to have gotten her size right, and the material was certainly better than anything she had ever owned before. It even felt nice between her fingers. “Alright,” she sighed and sat down to pull the suit on. This particular defeat would not be the worst she had ever suffered. Depending on what kind of armour he meant to stuff her into. “What have you got for me?”

“Asari commando. It should fit you well enough.”

“But I'm not asari.”

“I did notice. I fail to see the problem. You are anatomically similar to an asari. The armour is designed for biotics, and you'll be able to move around in it.”

Standing and zipping up the undersuit she had to concede his point. That type of armour was designed specifically for her kind of style. “So... you just happened to have a suit of asari commando armour lying around?”

“Try it on. See if any adjustments need to be made.”

She hesitantly accepted the proffered bodysuit. “Alright. So... did you?”

“Yes.”

“Shit... just like that. What an upgrade.” She began putting it on, now simply fascinated and a little awed by wearing the kind of outfit the Spectre who had put her in jail had worn. Briefly she wondered, whether it had belonged to that very one. Doubtful. But still, the thought was creepy and she crushed it.

Any necessary adjustment were well within what the armour was designed for, it turned out, and by the time they had everything in place and fitted to her, he held out a matching helmet for her. With room enough for an asari fringe, there would also be room enough for her hair. Arterius really had thought this through, it seemed.

“I've worked with asari before,” he told her. “No one will think anything of it, if I choose to do so again. You will wear this whenever you leave the ship.”

She nodded thoughtfully. While she had no particular liking for wearing a helmet, it would make a lot of things a lot less complicated. No matter what his reasons might be, he was more or less handing her a new identity. That was potentially very beneficial to her, should she ever make it through this new unsettling arrangement.

 


	4. Escalation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been written in the mood conveyed by this fantastic piece of music: [Acoustimetallus Plectrus by Ewan Dobson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A7E-PEv7cl8)
> 
> You may have noticed a theme by now. Yes, I intend to have every single chapter accompanied by a track by this brilliant guitarist. Because I felt like it.

“This ain't a lab. It's a fuckin' morgue!”

Saren had to agree with the human's assessment. Two bodies lay on the slabs – one primed for autopsy another already opened. That particular autopsy would not be finished anytime soon, as the fresh corpses of the examiners testified to from their bloodied resting places on the floor.

A quick glance around the room revealed nothing surprising. Nothing except for the fact that most of the morgue's containment units were occupied. A host of little red lamps glared at them.

“Going through subjects faster than they can get rid of them, it seems,” he remarked as he tapped his way into the system, hoping there would be information on the occupants and what had been done to them.

“Subjects? Subjects?! They're children, Arterius! **Your** people!”

He had come to appreciate many of Hamid's abilities over the past two months. This was one of them. Just as much as she would raise her voice in frustration, when they were safe aboard his ship, she never did it in the field, instead expressing her anger through a powerful hiss almost worthy of a turian. In fact, she had probably picked up that particular mannerism from the team of turians she had worked with. A team she was very close-lipped about, despite referencing them quite often. They had apparently had an immense influence upon her outlook.

He had used every bit of information she had given him and the report on how they had been taken out sat in his files now. It had been interesting reading to say the least. Whereas she seemed to connect the rout with a deep sense of shame and failure, Vasir's report indicated she ought to consider it otherwise. It had taken two Spectres to take them down, one of whom had needed a leave of absence afterwards to recover from her injuries. There was no shame in holding your own that well against two Spectres. Not that he would let her know that, of course.

His omnitool informed him that all the information in the medical examiners' system had been downloaded. He would go through it later.

Saren turned back to look at Hamid. She was leaning over the girl.

“Find anything of use?”

“Maybe,” she muttered, her voice tight with what he had come to recognize as suppressed anger. “Come and have a look.”

“I am not well-versed in medicine, human, and I know you aren't either. Get to the point.”

“You don't need medicine for this, Arterius. Just some experience with biotics.” She waved him over.

He wanted to get a move on and clear the rest of the facility, but in every single mission he had taken her on, she had not once strayed. She had followed his every order in the field and had only questioned his strategy during planning or de-briefing. She was doing exactly what she had told him she would, and it irked him to no end. She was human; there had to be a catch.

His last in-depth experience with a human, though it was admittedly ten years ago, had not endeared them to him. They were irrational and prone to impulsiveness that endangered everyone around them. This one had greater control of her impulses and had not caused much trouble. Yet. But she was still impulsive - and human.

And now, when there was no imminent danger during this momentary calm before they would continue their raid, she would contradict him; challenge him. He wanted to find fault with her behaviour, but she had promised to be on her best, and spirits if her best behaviour was not frighteningly like that of a turian.

Saren silently fumed, but he did join her by the slab.

Hamid showed him a biotic implant. Recognisably designed for a turian, though not at all of the type used by the Cabals.

“This seem off to you, too?” She handed him the implant, but before he had given it a closer look, she continued: “Look.” Gently, as if the girl were merely sleeping and not dead, Hamid turned her head, so Saren could see the back of her skull, where the implant had been taken out. “Look at where her cerebral tissues are bruised and see the direction those neural conductors were pointing.”

She pointed, but he waved away her hand and leaned down to take a closer look. That made him no less annoyed. The human was right. Highly unusual.

“What d'you make of it?”

He straightened back up and examined the implant more closely. It was too big. It could not possibly be nothing more than an amp port. Something else was afoot.

“Uhh, sir?”

He sub-vocalised his annoyance and she promptly stepped back from the table. Being able to communicate with a non-turian like that was a relief. It was so much quicker, even if she never caught all the nuances. She understood enough, which enabled him to keep her at a distance, whenever he needed to.

She turned her back to him and left him to ponder the mysterious implant. He suspected she had already formed her own theories about its purpose, and his mind was quickly coming up with a bunch as well. None of which he liked.

Hamid was poking at the controls of one of the containment units. She opened it but had only pulled it partially out, when she faltered, and he saw her shoulders slump a little.

“Oh, poor baby...” he heard her whisper to the corpse. Then her hands tightened to fists. Without warning she punched the wall next to her, punctuating the violence with a shouted “Fuck!” So she could be rattled, after all. Interesting. Her breathing came in short little huffs. Anger. And a promise of violence if their previous runs had been any indication. When frustrated, she would swear and curse like few others he had heard, but being truly angry left her mostly silent. Mostly. He had yet to determine, whether she always reigned in her anger or she only did it for fear of repercussions from him.

Saren moved around the autopsy slab to come take a look at what had gotten to his human compatriot. She held out a hand to stop him. “No, don't...”

He was not about to take orders from a human, though, so he ignored her warning. Looking down at the boy his gizzard clenched and he had to struggle not to throw up. He staggered backwards and forcefully pushed the image away from the instinctual parts of his mind to contain it in the rational ones. Hamid hurriedly closed the unit again. He expected an 'I told you so', but none came. She stood partially turned away from him, respectfully giving him space to recover, and with that also telling him that she knew what this meant to a turian.

Then the lights went out.

* * *

“Dammit”, Namira hissed as two small mechs helplessly floated in the air. “How did we not know about these?” She blasted them to pieces with her shotgun.

“We did. They've had mechs on guard since the entrance,” Arterius' cold sneer sounded in her earpiece, while he did away with the remaining two mechs with a grenade, messing up that entire corner of the room in the process.

“I meant these extra sublevels, and you know it.”

“Of course.”

Namira shook her head. Still baiting her, it seemed. Even after two months. At first he was clearly just testing her, but now? She had no idea why he kept doing it. He must have long since concluded that she meant it, when she agreed to his terms. She had put in a real effort to cooperate, despite him making it difficult for her every chance he got – and those were plentiful – so he could not still be meaning to test her. Could he? He probably could, the stubborn, paranoid ass. Why was it so hard to believe that she wanted to save the lives of children?

She studied him as they made their way across the wreckage of the room. The lightness of his gait suggested no real tension with regards to her being armed and at his back. No, he was not testing her anymore. That could only mean one thing; he was having fun. Baiting her was probably fun to him; even in combat. Or, she realised there was another option, he could be showing off. The ability to control a battlefield while carrying on minor social things like baiting her did show quite some skill and prowess. Her old team had been efficient, and none of them had been like this. Well, there had been Sarlix, who was always up for light-hearted banter while in battle, but she had respected that others might not be. Was Arterius' baiting really his form of banter? Really? Was he mad? What was the point in trying to rile her up, when it could put the both of them in danger? She knew he had little regard for her safety, but he took his own seriously. Probably mad. That was the only explanation she could think of.

It seemed every section of the lower parts of the facility had been sealed, blast doors and everything. It had probably happened, when whatever alarm it was had been tripped. Same time the lights went. They would need to get through yet another set of those heavy ones. Glad that she would not have to do it herself, she could simply let Arterius with his technical expertise handle it. She would be happy to just follow along and give whoever stood in their way a piece of her biotically charged mind about the things they had seen in the morgue.

“Watch my back,” Arterius said as he set about hacking his way through this third set of blast doors.

“Yessir,” she acknowledged, knowing full well that their sweep through the facility had been so complete that there would not be a single thing remaining to pose a threat. Bugs and dust bunnies in the corners would be the greatest challenge they left behind. But if there was one thing she had learned from her two months of working with Arterius, it was that he was paranoid and never took any chances whatsoever. In fact, Namira was fairly certain that if he actually thought there might be anything behind them to watch for, he would not have **her** watching for it – he would do it himself.

Paranoid. So incredibly paranoid. She knew he had hacked his way into her omnitool. She knew he had routed any communications to and from her omnitool through his ship's computer, and she knew he frequently checked in to see if she was doing anything he would want to know about.

Spirits, she must be such a disappointment to him, having no one besides him she really needed to communicate with and being completely up front about why she was working with him, too. Apparently working with honest people was not something Spectres did a whole lot of, or at least not this Spectre. Must be so confusing for him. She snorted softly into the mask covering her face.

“We're through,” he informed her, and moments later the heavy blast doors slowly opened.

“Great, then maybe we can be done with this shit. Feels like we just waded through their fuckin' barracks. They better have a goldmine of intel down here.”

“And if they don't?” He looked at her curiously.

“Then I'ma kill them.”

“We're going to kill them anyway.”

“Then I'ma kill 'em harder.”

For two months they had only intercepted transports and interrogated operatives. They had saved a few children, human and turian, but mostly they had been doing minor things. Now, for the first time, they had hit a base and found exactly what Namira had expected in terms of cruelty and misery. Her heart ached for those children, and if Arterius had expected to shock or frighten her with his brutality in combat, then he had not accounted for the fury she currently felt boiling within her.

She did not consider herself a sadistic person by any means, mind, she had probably grown a bit cynical over the years, but not sadistic. And yet for these people – this organisation – she would make an exception and be on board with any unnecessary brutality doled out by her unlikely partner and herself. Everything in their power to deliver, Cerberus deserved.

They slipped through the blast doors as soon as they could, both simultaneously using shockwaves to shove a group of human guards out of the way. Eight in all, half of whom were now scrambling on the floor for their weapons. Arterius executed two of them quickly, she only had time to do one of them in, before she had to charge their leader at the far end of the room. The tingling sizzle of her nervous system peaked with the hit she landed on him. He staggered back, his shields down, and she quickly followed up with sufficient pistol rounds in his brain to turn it into an approximation of Swiss cheese. Too late. As he died she saw it roll from his hand; the grenade. He had been prepared to sacrifice his own men in the blast radius to get them. And now she was standing in it with his corpse. Shit.

Namira turned, hissed “grenade” into her comm, picked a random target in the vicinity of Arterius and charged again. It was too soon to be doing such biotic antics again. The guard she knocked back had been about to keel over already, but she had no time to feel smug. Jittery with overloaded neural pathways she stumbled behind Arterius and – more importantly – behind his biotic barrier, just in time for it to catch the blast.

The look he gave her before he moved towards the first door on the left was one she had gotten used to by now: Intense disapproval.

“Risky,” he commented. “What would you have done, had I not been there to shield you?”

“Ugh, not that, that's for sure.” She shook her hands attempting to get the twitchiness to dissipate faster. “But you **were** there. That's what's so sweet about working with competent people. You can trust their skills in the field. Phew. Alright, I'm good to go.” She did not bother to check his reaction to her off-hand compliment. She could not find it in herself to care at the moment.

The door he had chosen turned out to just be a guards' break room. Since the guards would not be needing their things any more, she grabbed a handful of candy bars from their stash. That would be a welcome addition to the asari rations she subsisted on these days.

* * *

Even Saren's blood had reached boiling point by now as he skimmed through the data. He had only barely managed to stop the system wipe that had been initiated, when they had breached the first set of inner blast doors. That was always a risk with such missions. It was not all gone, though, and there was intel enough to chill him to the bone. Even worse was the knowledge that he would never have gotten to it if not for the stubborn human, who was currently leaning heavily on a work table after once again pushing her biotics to the limit. He did not wish to consider the implications, had this human not cared as much for turian kids as she did for human kids. That was probably the reason he could not be bothered to growl at her, when she took off her helmet in order to quickly munch one of the stolen candy bars.

“Ya oughtta have one, yourself.”

He looked over his shoulder at her and had to fight off a laugh at the look she levelled at him before putting her helmet back on. He must have been more affected by their findings than he first thought if something minor like that could make him react.

“What?”

He shook his head. He did not feel like elaborating.

She walked over, crossing her arms as she settled into place, hip leaning against the console he was working at. “I know you were laughin' at me. Or you almost did, anyway. So? What?”

He shook his head again, hoping she would relent. The revelations in the data packets he had saved were filling up his mind with terrible scenarios that it would require a lot more than just a lone Spectre and a criminal to fix. Unless they could be stopped before it came to that.

She sighed. “Nevermind that, then. You know I'm right, Arterius. You've been relying heavily on biotics as well. And I'm the only one who's had a snack on this trip.”

Looking at her again, her face now obscured once more by the helmet she had dutifully worn every time she disembarked, he was convinced that she was giving him that look again from behind the opaque visor. The look of a mother admonishing an errant child. It occurred to him in a flash that she might have children herself. She was old enough. He shrugged off the notion. He did **not** care, and he wanted her out of his field of vision so he could concentrate.

“Yes, you're right. Now shut up.”

“Need me to do something while shutting up?”

“Look around and see if there's anything we've missed.”

Hamid tilted her head slightly. Saren would rather shoot himself than admit to wanting to know what she was thinking at that moment, but then she shrugged and walked off.

Relieved he went back to his perusal of the data. This was bigger than he expected, but there were still elements that did not match up. As much as he hated it, he would need to discuss it with Hamid, who, being human, had a far better understanding of the people behind this. At least to some degree. Her outrage at their experiments seemed genuine, so apparently she did not quite share the mentality of these humans. It was strange to him. So far all humans had seemed so alike, but this one was unlike the others. Probably the turian influence.

He glanced at her. She had busied herself at another console and did not presently pay him any mind. Briefly he looked over the biometrics from her omnitool. Establishing a backdoor and procuring a feed of data relevant to his concerns had been easy. Though she had given no indication of it, he suspected she was aware that he had done it, in fact, it was probably the reason she had not sent anything out aside from those few communiqués to potential informants that she had received his permission to contact.

Her energy levels were normalising again. That snack had been good for her. It had done nothing for her hand, however. According to her suit it was swollen inside the glove, probably quite uncomfortable. There had to be more than one fractured bone in it, but she had not uttered a single word of complaint. She had used medigel to control the swelling, but that would not mend fractured bones. Punching a wall with only reinforced leather between your knuckles and the steel plating had been a bad idea despite being understandable.

And he still did not grasp how a human managed to understand the significance of-

“What in the blazes?” Saren's thoughts were interrupted by the outburst. Rolling his eyes at another ridiculous human idiom he waited for the inevitable follow-up. “They've got hidden rooms here. They got hidden rooms in hidden sublevels! How fucking paranoid is that?”

He had hidden rooms in hidden sublevels in his base. That was hardly paranoid. It was cautious. A sound precaution at that. So sound that he should have thought to check for it himself.

“Huh,” she huffed, “I'ma go check these out, sir. They don't look to be big, so I figure there can't be much resistance hiding away in there.”

He nodded and waved her off. “Just keep your comm channel open.”

“Of course, wouldn't want ya to miss out on a chance to kill someone.” She disappeared to the far end of the room and ducked into the corridor leading to the labs they had cleared half an hour earlier. When had she begun teasing him? He heard the faint click of the comm being opened, and the quiet noise of Hamid's calm breaths sounded in his ear.

Saren tried to pick up the train of thought she had interrupted. Her unexpected understanding of turians. She had worked with a team of them, but that did not necessarily mean getting to know these kinds of things. They would have needed a reason to tell her, and he could not for the life of him imagine one. Then he remembered what had happened while she was delirious that first day. One of them might have had a reason. A shiver ran down his spine as disgust at that notion flooded his mind. In his ear the sounds of metal sliding against metal screeched and he was thankful for the low volume.

What to do about all of this. He wanted to get a little further before discussing the bigger picture with the human. No, there was no point to that.

“Hamid.”

A grunt in his ear and then the sound of something heavy being dropped.

“What?”

“The asari. Your thoughts?”

Silence. Five breaths; slightly quicker than normal for her. They **had** demolished the lab quite thoroughly during the fight.

“Uhh, I think I'ma have to reassess that, sir.”

“Yes, I thought as much. I want you to do it now.”

“Oh, uhm, okay. Hang on.” More metallic sounds. This time of something being bent. Or straightened out.

“Last we spoke of them, you said-”

“Control group. Yeah, I remember. It seemed reasonable.”

Saren nodded to himself. He had agreed with her. “And now?”

“Nope. Not anymore. They're obviously not using cross species control groups. Hmmm, just a sec. This might make some noise, sir. I'ma mute the mic for a bit.” What followed was a deafening clang ringing up through the corridor she had disappeared through earlier. And then the faint click of her mic being unmuted again. “Alright, back-”

He interrupted her. “Are you tearing everything apart in there?”

“No. You already did that.” There it was again. Was she just stating what she perceived to be fact? Or was she teasing him? She continued before he could interrupt her: “The piece of wall that's actually a door is all fucked up. Explosion bent it too far out of shape for it to slide anywhere like it's supposed to. But now it's at the other end of the room. Gotta love biotics. Hmm, looks like an empty corridor. With doors. No baddies rushing at me. I think I'm good in here. Alright, the asari...”

He heard no footsteps, so she was probably standing still. “The asari,” he echoed. “Not a control group. So why?”

“Hmmm, whatever program you use to break code locks, could you send it over? All of these doors are tied to a central system, it seems. I figure opening all of them at once is better than ripping them to shreds one by one. Even if the latter might be a tad more satisfying.”

He found himself smiling slightly at her quip, as he sent the software packet to her omnitool.

“Thanks, installing. Right, so, hmm, I guess to make sure the asari Councilor would take the bait and send a Spectre? Perhaps they hoped she would send an asari Spectre. Asari do tend to not tell anyone about their dealings and that way no one would ever have gotten wind of this thing involving turians. Maybe too much information got leaked. Or maybe the Council's informants are better informed than the fuckers expected. I'm more and more convinced it was all just a ruse to have the mercs killed. Not sure why, though. Usually, killing mercs don't require much justification.”

He ignored the bitter remark, but he did take note that she was moving around again. “Then why even involve turian children at all?”

She muttered something under her breath that he could not quite make out. “Problems?” He asked.

“Just familiarizing myself with these fucking hieroglyphics...” his translator glitched at her last word.

“These what?”

“Written language beyond my understanding. Thank fuck the UI makes sense at least. I ain't even gonna try and make sense of the code itself.”

“You should learn.” It would be good, if she could hack doors and terminals as well. It would give them a larger variety of options on a mission.

“Be glad to, but the only person I hang out with these days, don't seem too keen on spending more time with me than absolutely necessary.”

He could hardly argue with that. If he wanted her to learn, he would have to teach her. That was a thought for later. “Focus, Hamid. The turian children. They seem to have plenty use for them, so why place them with mercs they intended to get killed anyway?”

“Because turian children are what those mercs will have been shipping until then. I know they did. Murlash confirmed it for me, remember? Turians and humans, normally.”

He did. Her informant on Omega had sent her a short vid of some of those mercs from a similar operation. “To make sure the mercs would not realise they were being set up. Of course. Think the children were meant to live or die?”

“Dunno. Is it important?”

“Of course. If they were meant to live, everybody will have been careful making sure they never saw anything of importance. If they were meant to die, we might have a bunch of interesting witnesses sitting on the Citadel that we have not yet questioned,” he explained to her with greater patience than he had thought himself capable of.

“You're not seriously thinking of questioning...” Hamid's voice trailed off. He heard her gasp and then the sound of quick steps and some rustling filtered through. “Oh no...”

“Hamid?”

Running steps, hurried breathing. A door that slammed. “Oh, spirits. Oh spirits, no. They're alive, Arterius. Get in here. They're alive! Oh fuck. Not this.”

He sprinted down the corridor to the lab, where she had gone. Her voice, now a bit more collected, spoke in his ear, explaining the layout of the secret corridor and the rooms along it, where he would find her and what he could expect. Five grievously injured kids, victims of experiments the purpose of which was not yet fully clear to him. She directed him to a room, where he found a girl. Medical equipment was keeping her alive, but it was impossible to tell how she was doing. Surgical scars were visible in several places on her body. She seemed stable and so he went to look in the other rooms along the corridor.

“You might not want to come in here,” Hamid's voice said in his ear, when he had stomped from the third of the rooms, a fury he had not expected simmering beneath the surface of his mind. Hamid sounded strange – he could not tell, whether it was due to her voice or his hearing.

He had no intention of slowing, however. “Nonsense. Don't be ridicul-”

“Saren, I mean it.”

That stopped him short. She had never dared to use his first name before. Always the respectfully distanced Arterius.

“What? Hamid, tell me!” He barked at her.

“He... and the last one. Like the one in the morgue. He's alive. But... I... Spirits...”

Icy dread licked at his spine, and he steeled himself for the sight that would greet him, grateful that she had thought to warn him.

* * *

Namira looked up, when Arterius stepped through the door. The flinch was still obvious, but he obviously had most of the visceral reaction under control. She admired that he was even able to do to that. The reaction was hard-wired into them, and she had seen seasoned soldiers throw up at the mere mention of such injuries. A cynical bastard he might be, but right now it also meant he stayed functional, despite the atrocious sight.

Two of her fingers were currently clutched by three taloned ones, and the little turian boy had been reacting to the sound of her voice, while she spoke to Arterius on the comm. Or at least that was what she would like to think.

“Say something to him. See if he reacts more to a turian voice.”

The Spectre slowly came closer, his eyes focused stubbornly on where the boy held on to her hand. He still looked ill, though. “Spirits...”

She nodded. “I did warn you. And the last one – next door – is the same.” She was vaguely aware that her voice did not sound quite as it used to. Oh well, unlike the turian standing on the other side of the gurney, she did not mind that he could see her reaction to the dreadful sight. She had no problem admitting to having feelings regarding this whole affair.

Arterius just looked down at them and nodded slightly.

“I don't know if they'll survive a trip,” she said. “D'you think we can even move them?”

“The three of them, yes.” His voice sounded odd, too.

“And this one?”

“Saving his life would not be the most merciful thing to do for him.”

She looked up sharply at that. “What are you saying? We can't just leave them!” Surely he could not be thinking of doing that.

“But perhaps we should.”

“Why?” She gently pried the little turian hand off of her own. She predicted she would want to shout at Arterius before long, and she did not want to be doing that next to the little one. “Gimme a reason. A damn good one, too!”

“Turian society is not kind to those who stand out in unintended ways,” he ground out as she came to stand before him. “I would not expect a human to understand.”

Namira crossed her arms and copied the distinctive throw of her head that meant a challenge among turians. She was not about to let a cynical hardass leave children to die if she could do anything about it. And he clearly knew jack shit about humans. She deliberately looked him up and down. “I guess you would know about that, but you still seem to have done all right for yourself.”

He snorted. “Ignorant as expected.”

She sniffed at him, wishing she could raise her hair to match his slightly lifted fringe, not that it would matter while wearing a helmet, but she was getting to him and a turian-esque display might have served better to emphasize her words. “I might surprise you. I did travel with a crew of outcasts and misfits.”

“Yes, so you keep saying. Clearly it meant nothing to you.”

She wanted to punch him again. Even when **she** tried to bait **him** , he still ended up getting to her. “It means everything,” she hissed at him. “None of them fit into The Hierarchy – for one reason or another. Instead we became a family. A weird, messed up family with no clan markings in common, but there we were. And we did aight.”

“You clearly haven't got the faintest idea what the honour of the family means to a turian.”

“I know more than you think.” Should she? Yes, she should. The bastard deserved it. “In fact, judging from your face, I may just have more experience with turian families and what they mean than you do.”

When he slammed her against the wall, she counted it as a victory. “That was uncalled for, human.”

“Was it really, turian?” She retorted with as much venom as she could muster despite being slightly out of breath. “Judging from their faces, both of them have families. One on Palaven and one I can't identify. I fucking **know** Turian families look after their own. You think it's up to you to decide on their behalf who belong in their families? Taking that away from them dishonours them and you!”

“Don't dare impugn my honour!”

“You know nothing of honour, Arterius,” she told him as calmly as she could manage. “You know only pride!”

He snarled; a low sustained snarl that began to worry her, when suddenly he let go and she could slip out of the room and into the neighbouring one without bothering to look back and gauge his reaction. She hardly needed to. No. It would be best to leave Arterius to his thoughts and start figuring out how to move the kids out of the facility, medical equipment and all. She should not expect his assistance with the two most grievously injured ones. Transportation solutions. She would focus on that.

It turned out to be easier than she had first expected. She found that much of the medical equipment and life support had independent power supplies, and it could be packed on to the shelf underneath the mattress. Things got a lot easier after that. Even more so when Arterius barged into the room, this time only hesitating slightly at the sight of the poor child. “Come,” he ordered.

“Uhh, where we going?” She asked while she automatically followed him out the door and along the corridor. He showed her, when he entered the room with the teenaged girl.

“Look at this and learn.” He keyed in a few things on his omnitool.

“Whoah, slow down, I ain't no tech guru. What's this?”

“I will show you how to link their life support systems to your omnitool. They have their own power supplies, but we need to monitor them, and to be able to step in and adjust things while moving them.”

“So, we're bringing them along, anyway?”

Arterius just looked at her with that inscrutable glare he had perfected. Something had changed, though. Something was different with his eyes, but Namira could not for the life of her figure out what it was. “Yes. Now, pay attention.”

She did, and soon after she was back with the boys whose lives she had championed, linking everything up like he had shown her, and packing the rest of the equipment and power supplies onto the gurneys. The desire to ask him what had made him change his mind itched in her throat. The things she had said had been way out of line, even if they were perfectly in line with her impression of him. If she found it necessary to do something like that too often, she was pretty damn sure she would not finish their mission alive. He might be utilitarian enough to keep her alive until mission completion, but then she would end up at the hot end of one of his many weapons. She should probably start thinking of ways to head him off.

Moving the kids was going to be hell. Jostling them could be fatal, and she would be keeping track of both at the same time. Arterius could not be counted upon for support, because he would be handling three of his own. Maybe he had been right, maybe this was pointless after all, but they could try. Damn it all, they could try. She would never have been able to leave them, and she hoped so badly that Arterius had been wrong. He had to have been. He had to be.

By the time they made it to the ship they were both exhausted, having frequently had to use their biotics to stabilise and even lift the gurneys across the debris they had left in their wake on their way in. Namira had never been so grateful for the presence of regular old candy bars in an enemy base, nor had she ever been so annoyed with the messes left behind by grenades and the more spectacular uses of biotics. It was truly a pain to pass through.

Then, when they had successfully linked all five gurneys to the ship's computer, Arterius started giving out orders again.

“I want that space cleared.” He indicated a section of the cargo area. “All of it.”

“What, now?” Namira could hardly believe her ears. Sweat was pouring off of her and her blood sugar was dipping dangerously low, the all too familiar wooziness slowly creeping up on her. “I need to eat first.”

“Then do so, but be quick about it. I want it cleared, when I return.” He rummaged through a few boxes and packed a sizeable amount of stuff into two bags that he slung over his shoulder. He did not give her a chance to see what he took, but as he lowered the loading ramp for the cargo bay, she stole a glance at the boxes he had taken items from. Explosives. Seemed he was not about to diverge from his usual routine of fucking shit thoroughly up, before leaving the scene.

“And when's that?” She asked him, when he had lowered the ramp and had set off back towards the base.

“Soon.”

“Dammit, Arterius!” She yelled at his retreating back. But she received no answer.

She ended up wolfing down her energy bars, while moving crates and boxes. Though it might be good practice for precision use of her biotics, she did not like having to do it fast, and she dared not postpone it for a meal. Experience told her the bastard did not fuck around. It might not be the prettiest stowing of crates she had ever managed, but it was secure enough to travel with, and she had not had more than a handful of minutes' break before she heard his flanging voice over the comm again.

“I hope you're ready, Hamid.” This time the recognisable smugness she had grown used to from Arterius was back in his tone. “We have a deadline, now.” Of course they did. Because a controlled remote detonation would be far too simple. A timed one that they needed to outrun was probably his idea of fun, she figured with an eye-roll.

“'Course I'm ready, sir, you told me to be.” If smug was the game, she would play it.

She had not expected him to have rigged up a transport for the entire section of cooled containment units, but that was exactly what he had done, and he slipped it into the spot she had cleared for it, with considerable aid from his own biotics. She was unable to help at this point, having tired herself out too thoroughly.

“Close up. We're taking off,” he said as he strode past her towards the cockpit. He had them off the ground mere seconds after the cargo doors had closed and sealed.

Had somebody asked her how she felt, when the viewscreen in the cockpit showed the complete obliteration of the Cerberus base, she would have had no compunctions admitting to being intensely gleeful, but neither of them spoke a single word to the other.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I welcome criticism and suggestions. I am slowly beginning to flesh out, where I imagine this story might go. I have a few conversations and scenes that I want to put in there, but I still do not have a set plan for everything. In fact, in my head this fic plays out much like the games with a branching set of paths through it, and I have not decided which they will go yet. So I will happily receive your opinions on anything and everything from names and faces to the colour of the universe. Or something. Anyway, I hope you're enjoying it so far, even if things have taken a turn for the downright awful at the moment. Not to worry. It'll only get worse.


	5. A Disruptive Acquaintance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One month earlier: The accidental mission that changed how the two of them work together. A familiar face shows up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written in the mood of this excellent piece: [Level 30 by Ewan Dobson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I4C5IPoC8yE)

Arterius liked to debrief during a sparring match and Namira hated every last second of it. Getting the last fumes of adrenaline – or whatever analogous hormone turians had – out of his system was no doubt efficient this way, but she could have done just fine without it.

After a month together her hand-to-hand form was better than ever, and she had more bruises than she remembered ever having acquired in a non-hostile situation. For some definition of non-hostile. He did use gloves and let her keep the commando armour on, so she was in no real danger of being carved up, but he did not pull his punches either. Namira did not so much mind the exercise – not even after missions – but she wondered whether he really wanted her attention on the debrief. She certainly spent most of her time weaving and dodging his blows. Occasionally he even pushed her hard enough that she reacted on instinct, lashing out with a biotic Lift or Throw. Curiously, that had not caused him to confiscate her amps before their debrief sparring matches; he always let her keep them until they were done.

Namira found she understood very little of what the enigmatic Spectre did. At least he allowed for questions during mission briefings and debriefings, which she made use of to the best of her ability. She meant to stay alive, and that meant learning how to work with him, however much he hated her. He was easily the most infuriating individual she had ever met.

Differences aside, they had been very efficient, and though she had at first been annoyed that they were only going after small transports and couriers or interrogating informants, she had soon realised that he was no less impatient to go after bigger targets. He was waiting. For her. Probably expecting treachery, as far as she could tell, but she had meant what she said to him: She was on board and committed to this.

And thus she accepted his harsh debriefings going over every single little flaw in their performance – mostly hers. Her old boss had been straight out of the turian military himself, so she was no stranger to a solid dressing-down anyway. As long as she did not let him know or see anything too personal that he could use against her, she would be fine. And as long as she could keep up her learning curve and, if not keep up with him, at least not fall too far behind, she figured things would remain stable. Besides, she was still unsure of the wisdom in letting him see the extent of her skills. If he thought her only moderately competent she would have a better chance of getting out alive in the end.

She had not accounted for diversions. Distractions. Emergencies.

Their violent debriefing was interrupted by an alert about urgent messages. He turned from her and went to the cockpit, leaving her, where she had landed, short of breath and sore.

A shower soothed her aching muscles, and Namira was grateful that that was possible. It was also testament to the fact that Arterius so far had no intention of harming her. So far. She was not about to trust him to do anything other than his job, which included saving innocents but not keeping her alive and unharmed. She would have to keep herself safe. Or try to.

She padded back to her cot, where she had left her clothes. Though the new undersuit he had procured for her was a thousand times more comfortable than her old one – not to mention in one piece – she was not about to forego honest, regular clothes, when she was just hanging out on the ship taking care of ordinary shit. Cargo pants and tank top was her thing.

When at first he had supplied her with a luxurious towel she had wondered about any hidden agendas, but after having lived on his ship for a month, she had arrived at the simple conclusion that he liked nice things. Not a lot of them, mind you, not a lot of clutter aboard the ship at all – not like what she had been used to – but whatever items he did keep around, were considerably above average quality. It seemed so much at odds with his otherwise Spartan living that she still had a hard time wrapping her head around it. The infamously brutal Spectre, who seemingly preferred to sleep in the pilot's seat – or maybe he just found it necessary – liked **really** soft towels.

She finished wringing her hair out. And gathered the short locs in the habitual bundle high on the back of her head. Originally, after her escape, she had intended to grow her hair long, but Sem had liked her hair this way. Reminiscent of a fringe, he had said.

A tingling down her spine made her turn halfway towards the door. After that first shock in the rest room she was no longer surprised by how stealthily Arterius was able to move about. This time she was fairly certain he had caught sight of her wringing water out of her hair. The look of slight queasiness on his face told her he reacted to that sight much like any other turian she had ever met. While their fringes could and would bend to some degree, and mostly downwards at that, it was not comparable to what hair could do. She flicked her locs up and then down again, and finished off with a solid tug to make sure the band held it all in place. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him cover up a flinch, and she was not above feeling a little gleeful that it was possible to get to him. It was petty. She could live with that.

When he walked over, he had plastered the neutral, focused look back on his face. No, this was far from neutral. Subtle signs told her otherwise. The slight darkening of the skin behind his mandibles. It could not be fear, not with him. Agitation? Much more likely. Or maybe he was just really fucking annoyed with what he had to know was an attempt on her part to make him uncomfortable. Perhaps that had been foolish.

He looked her up and down. Given that she was still nude that might have made her uncomfortable, had he been anything other than a turian. As it were, she was merely puzzled. He was evaluating something about her.

“Will you be capable of another mission in eight, maybe ten hours? We're taking a detour.”

“Uhh sir?” She had not expected that question. Confusion had her mind conjuring up a number of scenarios, one less likely than the next.

“Just answer the question, human.”

“It would depend on the mission, sir. What's it about? Biotics? Sure, if I eat now, and then sleep and eat again before we head out, yeah. I can do it. Hand-to-hand? Ehhh, not so much.” She made her wince clear. He was nowhere near as proficient in human facial expressions as she were in turian. It was weird; as if she were enunciating slowly with her face. She idly wondered if turian parents taught their kids the nuances of mandible movements that way.

He glared at her, eyes narrowed to little slits. “Are you suggesting I would be so stupid as to deploy you with hand-to-hand engagement in mind?”

Shit. “Oh, uhh, no, sir. Sorry. It's just... ah, it's a bit more present in my mind at the moment. Bruises fucking hurt and shit.”

She was unable to tell whether his snort was one of amusement or of disdain. Opposite of her he was keeping a tight check on his subvocals unless her meant to tell her something with them.

“So, uhm, what **is** the mission about?”

“Rescue mission. Probably.” He was still studying her as if looking for some kind of reaction.

“Probably? You don't know? Wait... this ain't a part of our thing, is it? It's something else.” It began to dawn on her. He was about to suggest she come with him on a mission they did not have any agreements about. Their previous mission had showed her clearly enough that he still was not about to trust her, and yet he was asking her to come along on whatever this might be. Then the second shoe dropped. That had to mean things were really, really fucking bad for him to make that request. Oh shit. If a Spectre like Arterius thought things might be bad... she did not like that idea at all.

“You assume correctly. The message I received was from the Council. Another Spectre is running an op out here, and they expected him to report back days ago. He hasn't, and so it is necessary to investigate. I'm closest to his last known location, so naturally I answer the call.”

She studied him right back and decided to grab the bull by the horns; get things out in the open. She preferred that. “So why even ask, sir? You don't trust me. That's plain as day. Why not go in without me?”

“Because if the Councillors are right in their fears, then the mere fact that my friend has gotten in over his head, means that it would be wise for me to use as much back-up as I can muster.”

She nodded in understanding. “Yeah, makes sense. I'd do the same. So, who are we helping and what's going on?”

Arterius stood silently in front of her, still with that pale gaze turned upon her. She realised belatedly that she had forgotten the 'sir'. Used to following orders she might be, but not terribly good with formality. At least not consistently good. She hoped that was not the reason for his long deliberation. The seconds – for it could not have been more than that – felt like hours before he finally spoke. “Get dressed. I'll give you a quick run-down while you eat. Full briefing after you've slept.”

“Yessir.” She discarded her towel and quickly did as ordered, not taking many seconds to shrug into what she would be sleeping in; a t-shirt.

Dressed and still slightly stunned she turned towards the simple kitchenette, where they usually prepared and ate their meals. Arterius had started preparing one of the hearty meal packs, and she joined him there.

“You're not kidding, are you?” She asked eyeing the size of the meals he was intending for the two of them.

“Of course not.” The heating unit bleeped angrily and he took out her meal and handed the bowl over before he shoved his own in for heating. “Eat.”

Obediently she started shovelling the nutritious noodle dish into her mouth. Around a mouthful she prompted him: “Aight, I'm eating. Lay it on me, sir.”

He held up a hand. “Just a brief run-down for now, so you have some idea of what you'll be waking up to.”

She nodded and gave him a thumbs up while chewing on a mouthful of protein nuggets.

“Two scientists have discovered something of import to the galactic community. This cannot be allowed to fall into the wrong hands, so a Council Spectre was assigned to escort them to the Citadel. They were supposed to have arrived on the Citadel days ago, but not only have they not been seen. He has not even sent a message reporting the delay.”

Namira swallowed a mouthful of noodles. “Alright, so if he don't-”

“Shut up and eat.” His stern glare could probably make children pee their pants, she figured. “Delays happen. Obstacles can be overcome, but for him to be prevented from even getting a message out is worrisome. That means that unless we find evidence upon arrival that things aren't as bad as I expect, then we will be going in hot and anyone down there who so much as looks like they're carrying a weapon will be killed with extreme prejudice.”

That penetrating glare was unnerving as shit. Like he was trying to read her mind. The heating unit bleeped again, announcing the availability of another hot meal. Arterius ignored it.

“Can you do that?” He asked.

“Do what?”

“Eliminate targets with extreme prejudice.”

She shrugged, the movement causing her to almost lose a few noodles and necessitating an inelegant manoeuvre to avoid spilling it down her shirt. “Sure,” she mumbled, fairly certain he had just rolled his eyes at her.

“Why do I get the feeling you don't quite grasp the severity of this situation, human?”

“I dunno. Makes sense, what you said. If this other Spectre hasn't been able to get in touch, then it would be really fucking strange if we found his armed allies just walking around groundside not helping him get in touch.”

She looked at him expectantly, hoping she had correctly identified the source of his uncertainty about her.

“Not bad reasoning for a human,” he acknowledged, and it was her turn to roll her eyes.

It seemed her shrugs had become her goto response for his snide remarks. “Survive five years as a merc, you can't not learn a couple of things.”

His mandibles fluttered with suppressed humour and he rose to grab his own meal from the heating unit.

“Go sleep,” he ordered her, when he sat down bowl in hand. “When we arrive in orbit, long range scanners can hopefully tell us more. If not, we have only the same mission briefing he went in there with. I want you sharp.”

“Yessir,” she mock saluted and quickly washed her bowl and put it back in its place in the cupboard. The neat orderliness he maintained on board his ship was so far from what she was used to, and she kept having to remind herself to not just leave things behind her. It was a far cry from how their relaxed little mercenary unit had lived.

As she crawled into bed, entirely too awake still to really sleep, it occurred to her that Arterius had called the other Spectre his friend.

Saren Arterius had friends?

* * *

Saren was not happy with his current state of affairs. Under normal circumstances he would not even take a mentee on such a mission; not after a mere month of working together. But the human biotic was all the back-up he had and there was no time to get anyone else. If anyone else were in the area, Sparatus would have informed him of it and put him in touch with them. He grumbled to himself, angry with the entire situation, and considered what the long-range scanners told him: nothing. Scrambled. That was telling in its own annoying way.

He went to the hold to wake the human. He had set the VI to wake him up a short while before their arrival, but humans – or at least this human – needed more sleep than he did, so he had let her sleep. Now, however, they needed to plan their approach, and much to his continued aggravation, he needed her input for that. He did not yet have a sufficient grasp of her capabilities to plan her part in the rescue effort without asking for her opinion on whether she could actually do what he wanted of her. That was precisely the reason he had kept their ops in the lighter end so far, but now circumstances forced his hand.

She was still lying on her belly, head turned to one side, arms wrapped tightly around the small pillow under her cheek – just like she had lain down about eight hours ago. It had taken her a long while to fall asleep – several hours – he had noticed, but even just rest would be good enough. Or so he hoped. He poked her side with his boot. “Human! Up!”

The deep, creaky groan she produced as she stirred was eerily similar to a turian sound of pain, and he shook his head at his instinctive compulsion to check for injuries.

Lifting her torso and resting on her elbows, letting her head hang down between her hands, he concluded once again that human similarity to asari in terms of flexibility might very well come in handy; especially if they were as outnumbered for this as he expected to be. He was about to prompt her again, when she violently shook her head, making her fringe flop about in that nauseating way reminiscent of a broken fringe. He had seen her do it several times by now; it was probably a human habit, but it did not look any less disturbing for that reason.

She flipped to her side, sat up and swung her legs over the side of the cot with a discontented grunt that he could not begrudge her even if he tried. It sounded like she muttered something, but whatever it was, it was not intelligible enough for his translator to pick up. She stood and looked up at him, bleary-eyed and with an unexpectedly open expression. Though he was still taller than her, she was tall enough that she did not automatically register as weak in his subconsciousness, and long-limbed enough to not look nearly as 'wrong' to him as humans and asari mostly did.

“G'morning, sir.” She scratched the back of her head and blinked. He could see her focus returning by the second.

“Get yourself ready and join me in my cabin. We have plans to discuss.”

“Uhh, discuss?” Immediately after uttering the question her eyes took on the sharpness he was used to seeing in them. Understanding followed. He would never have expected it, but even though human eyes were located in those odd, shapeless faces, their eyes were not so different from a turian's. That meant their expressions could be understood. Proficient he was not, yet, but at least he was beginning to pick up on it. “Nevermind,” she said, interrupting his musings, “gimme a minute.”

He looked at her critically, trusting that she would get the message. She was far better at reading turian bodies and faces than vice versa, after all. “I doubt a minute will be enough, Hamid.”

Her mouth twisted and her eyes held humour. “Aight, gimme twenty and I'll be ready for combat, even.”

“See that you are. You can eat while we plan our strategy.”

“Yessir!”

She headed for the kitchen. “Not going to shower?”

“Nah, showered before I slept. I always end up needing a shower after an op anyway. Waste of time doing it now.” She set the water boiling and then made a beeline for the restroom. Saren went to his cabin to study what map material he had available on their destination.

It had not even been fifteen minutes before she stuck her head through the door, checked the state of the room and then walked in, holding a steaming mug in one hand and a large bowl of lumpy levo goo that looked disgusting in the other.

He gestured at the chair across from him. “Sit.”

She did as ordered, placing her mug on the table and started in on the food. He called up the holo of the area they were heading into; a valley between two mountain ranges where they ran into an ocean. The long, narrow valley floor was covered in vegetation. It was not a friendly environment and only one way to approach by air.

Hamid noticed the same thing. “Oh, that's gonna be a bitch to approach. Landing pad there?” She pointed at the narrow stretch of flat coastline nestled between the rocky promontories.

Saren nodded in confirmation. “The base itself is further inland. This is actually an abandoned colony. Now the location for a research station.”

“Please tell me they bothered to make roads through that forest... jungle.”

“Some. There's a main road from the pad to the town. There are other, smaller roads as well, but they are hardly relevant. All of them gravel.”

She grunted an “oh joy” and kept her eyes on the map.

“The town is abandoned,” he continued, “and the research station lies further back – and below ground.”

“Salarian colony?”

“Yes.”

“Figures,” she snorted, “the only ones, who would look at a pretty planet like this and place a fucking town in a dense jungle in a cramped corridor between two mountain ranges.”

He could not disagree with her assessment. “As for hostiles, I know they will be there, because something is scrambling my long range scanners.”

“Huh, and I guess it'd be too much to hope for that they're all dead and just left their scramblers behind.” She sipped her hot drink. “So how you wanna do this?”

“I don't know yet,” he admitted. “If it were me defending the base I'd have flak turrets covering the landing pad, so let's assume they do. We need to get down there.”

“Mmm,” Hamid said around a mouthful, “and I figure just bombing the entire thing to hell and land on the rubble won't be no good?”

“If no other option presents itself, that's what we'll have to do, but I'm sure Nihlus would prefer to leave in his own ship, if he's still alive down there.” Spirits, he hoped he was. The unruly young soldier had turned into an excellent Spectre under his tutelage and in the years after he had also become a good friend. If what they found down there was his corpse, then whoever was responsible would be wishing for a swift nuke rather than what he would do to them.

“Sir?” Hamid's voice startled him out of his thoughts of bloody revenge, and he met her eyes. “We'll find your friend.”

He could not hide his disdain and snapped at her: “Pardon my doubting you, human, but so far you have yet to earn my trust.”

She shrugged, but held his gaze. “Would you even allow me to try?”

He stared. It was not a question he had expected. The answer was no, but it seemed counterproductive to tell her that. A quick re-evaluation of that notion led to the conclusion that she already knew. Her next words told him as much.

“Look, sir. I don't even know why I'm here. The mission – my mission – you don't need my help for that. You could've left me behind. I kinda expected you to. But you didn't, and as far as I'm concerned, you're giving me the chance of having my revenge. You don't owe me that. You don't owe me shit. But I'm here, and I don't get it.” She broke free of his gaze. Curiously, to him it felt just as much like being set free. The woman did have a rather intense glare now that she was waking up fully, and she directed it first at her hands and then at the holographic rendering of the valley on his table.

“I know friendship. Friends help each other, and even if you're not exactly my friend...” He chuffed disparagingly at the notion, but didn't interrupt her, curious what she had to say. “...you're giving me a chance for revenge. I'll help you help your friend. A favour for a favour. If we don't find him, we'll both be helping each other's revenge.” She ended with her eyes firmly locked onto his right hand, the talons on which would have been dug firmly into the armrest of his chair had it been made of less sturdy material than metal. Saren forced himself to relax it.

“If you think a fervent speech is going to make me trust yo-”

She interrupted him and rolled her eyes: “Fuck that shit, sir. This ain't about that.”

“By all means, then, tell me what it **is** about for you.”

“Principles, sir. I can see what this means to you. Just because you're a dick, doesn't mean I gotta be one, too.” Her dark eyes found his again. He did not know what was in that drink of hers, but it had instilled unhealthy amounts of courage in her. She knew it, too, it seemed, but her eyes expressed clearly to him that there was no regret for her words. Spirits damn her, she knew he was not about to throw away his only option for back-up. Of course now was the time for her to start being truly infuriating. To think he had thought her annoying before this.

* * *

Namira looked at the cockpit viewscreen showing them a lush jungle – pictures from the archive entries on the colony. Why in the everloving fuck she had suggested to him that she make an airdrop, she had no idea. No, scratch that. She did have an idea. She would never have thought Saren fucking Arterius capable of any real kind of sentiment if it did not involve unsavoury amounts of blood and guts, but he had been worried – genuinely worried – for his friend.

“Ready?” He asked her. As if one could ever be truly ready to make a solo drop into a hostile environment with an unknown number of enemies.

She adjusted her helmet once more and saluted. “As ready as I'll ever be, sir. Any last minute insults you wanna get off your chest before I get myself killed?”

The dry, throaty grunt he made, whenever she employed her sarcasm was the most positive response she could get out of him. Even his faintly amused subvocalisations were silent today. Whoever the other Spectre was, he obviously meant a great deal to him. Friend, he had called him.

“Try not to disturb any of the megafauna down there.”

“Right. Because I'll be sooo tempted to bring home a gigantic fucking arthropod to keep as a pet. Fuck you, Arterius. I ain't stupid.”

“Coming up with this idea suggests otherwise, human.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I've done this before. Just not alone. And not in a fucking jungle. Ugh, landing's gonna be a bitch.”

“At least it's a levo world. If you end up lost, you might be able to eat the plants here.”

“Oh lovely, so whatever ends up eating me won't die from anaphylactic shock. Ain't that just fucking peachy.”

“Keep up the snark, and you might be able to trigger it that way.”

She did a double-take and studied the Spectre in the pilot's seat. His forbidding countenance revealed nothing and she could not for the life of her tell, whether he had been snide about her snark, or whether he was joining in on it. Not only had he asked her what she thought she might contribute to this mission, now he was semi-joking with her? Right after giving every indication that his sense of humour had shrivelled up? If the sky fell and they found the Easter Bunny holed up here she would probably be less surprised. She shook her head. He really was beside himself. She best not push her luck too much. Once they were done here, he might pay her back.

They were helping a Spectre. Spectres generally did good work. Generally. She shoved the bitter memories away. This fellow Spectre of his could not possibly be as much of an ass as he was. Holding on to that thought had made it easier to get revved up about this mission, but damn it was one of the riskiest stunts she had ever done.

“Get to the airlock.”

“Yessir.” She turned and switched her comm on as she left the cockpit.

They came in over the sea. It occurred to her she had not seen an ocean in a very long time. The base was currently in the planet's night cycle. Working by daylight might have been easier for targeting purposes, but depending on how bad the situation was those extra hours could mean a fatal difference. A stealth mission under the cover of darkness was a godsend. Using biotics and lighting up blue in the darkness would be dangerous as all hell. A mixed bag if ever there was one. Namira missed having a team with more versatility.

The decon cycle finished and she hooked herself to the safety rails and opened the airlock. The orange glow of the planet's nearest moon glittered off the surface of the dark water as it rushed by below them. The feeling was exhilarating, and she imagined she could almost feel the rush of air against her face. The good thing about scanners being scrambled was that it affected the defenders' scanner equipment, too. Hopefully Arterius could deposit her in the jungle without anyone noticing what had taken place. Their flyby would be noticed, of course, but if their enemies would be watching the skies for passing ships, it would make her job so much easier.

Crouching down and trying to look ahead, she could see one of the promontories towering in the distance. Those mountains had not looked quite so tall on the holomap. Oh well, Arterius knew how to fly his tin can, she assumed and focused on mentally preparing herself for the timing that would be required of her.

Weather conditions were currently calm. Only small waves on the water's surface and only few and wispy clouds in the sky. Nice night to go for a midnight swim if not for the impending violence looming on their horizon. The atmosphere was breathable, though she would, of course, keep her asari commando disguise intact by not taking off the helmet.

The landing pad came into full view. Three ships stood there. Arterius' tense voice sounded in her ear: “The one on the left is Nihlus'. He's still here. I don't recognise the others.”

“Acknowledged.” There was nothing else to say.

“I'll give you as much of a view as I can before I have to start evasive manoeuvres.”

“Gotcha. Just get me down there.” Infiltration was not her preferred MO, but when they were just the two of them against who knew how many hostiles were waiting for them, she was not about to complain.

Namira thought she spotted movement on the large platform. She was certain she spotted it, when the three large flak cannons swivelled on their bases, powering up. She drew breath to say something, but he cut her off. “I've seen them. Hold on.” Searchlights went on and punched blinding white stripes through the night air. Of course, for lack of scanners...

“Acknowledged,” she muttered again, held on tighter to the safety rail, and flattened herself against against the frame of the airlock's opening. She did not want to take a hit from a round intended for a ship hull. She had seen before what that did to a body.

It was anything but smooth sailing after that. No inertial dampeners had their full effects outside the ship's hull, and before they had even crossed over the pad, she was unsure whether she should curse his small infiltration ship's manoeuvrability for making smoothies of her insides or bless it for not taking more than a couple of glancing hits.

“Providing distraction in a moment. Drop on my mark.” Namira would have sworn he sounded smug, but she had no time to worry about that. They were closing in fast and she began to take stock of enemy numbers. One hand clutched tightly on the rail, the other ready on the release mechanism for her harness, she focused and called forth the gentle tingle of her biotics. Timing was of the essence.

“Acknowledged,” she said yet again.

“Three,” he countered.

The harsh swerve to port made her feel like her body was attempting to liquefy inside her fitted suit.

“Two.”

He rolled them back towards starboard and she was nearly thrown back into the airlock if not for the tether securing her to her position.

“One.”

An explosion went up as they left the landing pad behind and she saw the dark green canopy looking suspiciously peaceful beneath her feet.

“Mark.”

She released the harness and dropped.

Silently praising him for having put the ship between her descent and any potential observers, she was very aware she was now on her own. The ship was far away already. She activated her biotics to cushion her landing not a second before she hit the tree tops, hoping it would minimize the risk of being spotted.

Without the luxury of choosing their drop site with any accuracy and with neither the means nor the time to see the exact shapes of the vegetation beneath her, all she had to rely on was her control and her reaction time. She hit the first two branches harder than expected and channelled more energy into slowing her descent and counteracting the horizontal force she flew in with. She made the mistake of thinking she was nearly there, when the branching canopy closed above her. Relaxing her control turned out to be a bad idea, when she hit the gigantic fronds of what she could only liken to a fern. A bigger fern than she had ever seen before. Soft though their stems and fronds might be, they were sturdy enough to brake her trajectory with a slow sway.

When the stem slowly righted itself she slid down the length of it towards the dark centre of the plant. Namira quickly employed her biotics again in an attempt to change her course. She was not going to end her days in some overgrown Venus Flytrap.

The fern's multiple stems prevented her. And she slid down to its centre only to find it mostly hard and not at all the death trap she had briefly imagined. She drew a deep shuddering breath.

“I am never doing something this stupid ever again,” she admonished herself as she found an opening between stems that was big enough for her to squeeze through. It was a drop of another two metres to the ground from there, but that was a cake walk in comparison to what she had just done. A quick scan with her helmet's visor told her the ground was moist, but not so much that she should expect swampland beneath her.

A jump and a roll, cushioned by the soft ground beneath, brought her to stand between the tall ferns and the dead, rotting plant material among their bases. She felt like she imagined a mouse might among ferns of a more regular size.

Checking her bearings, she began making her way to the platform, while the medigel dispenser in her suit soothed the pains in her battered left knee and wrist.

* * *

It was taking too long. She probably messed up the landing. It would have been a hard landing to stick even for an asari with superior control, and Hamid was only human and a second-rate merc at that. Saren figured he would not be hearing from her again.

At least the scramblers were not strong enough to do more than cause slight interference with his short range scanners. His quick decision to combine the drop with a bombing run to take out one of the flak cannons had paid off, and a blaze bathed the narrow coastline in a golden glow, cross-sectioned by the swaying columns of the white search lights. With one turret down, he might be able to take out the other two in similar runs, even if they now knew he was out here and expecting him back.

He cursed. It had been foolish to think the human could pull off her mad stunt. He waited a little longer to give his cannons a slightly better chance at keeping up. It would have been great, had they gotten airborne to meet him. He would happily have shot one of their ships out of the sky and into the sea beneath them. But no such gifts were forthcoming, it seemed.

Lining up his targeting computer with one of the remaining defensive positions he kicked the ship out of its hovering position and started another run across the dark stretch of ocean.

He was almost at the point, where he would be able to see the horizontal grey of the platform itself, when her voice reached him over the comms.

“Hamid to Arterius, come in?” He was so surprised it took him a few moments to respond. He was closing in quickly and could make out the three ships.

“Hamid! Report!” He barked at her.

“Bout to deliver our little present. Enjoy the fireworks, sir. Hamid out.” Her comm went silent again, and for a second her cursed her insolence, but then slowed down his approach. No reason to let them loose more rounds at him.

With only milliseconds between them two more explosions tore through the darkness. Beautiful. Demolitions expert she may not be, but she could follow instructions. He guided his ship in to set it down next to Nihlus'.

As expected he had to shoot his way out; not that he minded that in the slightest. Behind cover in his own airlock with his Equalizer he could last a long time, and he had an ally out there behind their backs.

He had not attempted to contact Hamid again. As much as it annoyed him to not know what was going on at her end, he surmised she probably had a reason for not reporting in. He contented himself with picking off targets at a leisurely pace, pleased to note that sometimes a target disappeared from the field, without his intervention. She was out there.

The mercs, for they seemed to be just that, realised it as well. They started pulling back, re-grouped and moved away from the landing pad and up the road through the jungle. Let them. He would get to them soon enough.

The static crackle of a comm being used while under a tactical cloak sounded in his ear. “Moving up on your left, sir. Did a sweep. They've all moved out.”

He scanned the area just to be sure. No signs of life. The air shimmered and his unlikely compatriot appeared and walked up to stand beside him looking inland. She limped slightly.

“Rough landing?”

She tilted her head. “I ain't never doing that shit ever again.”

“Your own idea,” he pointed out.

“You wanted expediency. You got it.”

There was no denying that, and he grinned at her, knowing she would understand. Hopefully she would also be a little unnerved, though that was probably too much to hope for with this madwoman.

She shook her head slightly, rolled her left shoulder and grunted softly. “But yeah. Rough landing. Didn't decelerate enough before impact with the first tree. Banged up my left side, but I'll be alright.” She walked into the ship, took off her helmet and shook her hair out. “I gotta admit, sir, this infiltration under a tactical cloak thing is beginning to grow on me.”

“Keep it. You'll need it again before we're done here.”

“Fine by me. And the pistols?” She referred to the silencing mods he had provided for her pistols.

He nodded once.

“Aight. Just a sec.” She picked up a towel and dried sweat off of her face and neck. “I was right, you know. Definitely gonna want a shower after this. Jungles. Humid as fuck. Hate 'em. Gonna smell real fuckin' enticin' once we're done here.”

“I don't care, human. Get a move on.”

“Yeah, yeah, lemme just grab some dextro medigel and I'm ready.”

Suspicion and concern rose in him. “Why would you need dextro?”

She shrugged. He was getting really tired of that multi-purpose gesture. “If I'm the first to make it to your friend.”

“I never said he was turian. How did you know?”

She pinned him with a glare he easily identified as exasperated. At least they had that in common. “He's **your** friend, Arterius. Easy guess from there.” She pulled her helmet back on, checked everything once more and gave him a thumbs up.

He would kill her. Not now. And definitely not until Nihlus was safe, but he would kill her. The way she used this opportunity, when he actually had need of her aid, to outright taunt him, while she felt safe from his wrath – it could not go unpunished. The mission would be over at some point. He would make her regret her insolence and she would learn her place. Or die.

For now, however, threats would have to suffice. When she passed him on the way out, he casually grabbed her by the throat. Nowhere near tight enough to obstruct her breathing, but it would remind her of their first conversation. She stiffened beside him. “Do not get smart with me, human.”

“But I wasn't-”

“Shut up! Do not for a moment think I trust you or will continue to tolerate this behaviour, just because I have seen the necessity of allowing you slightly greater freedom for this mission. Am I making myself clear?”

He heard her breath hitch. She knew she had overstepped. “Crystal, sir.” She said nothing else.

“Good. Now, move out.”

“Yessir.”

They did another sweep of the area, and Hamid was blissfully silent for the duration, except to confirm his orders or bring his attention to something relevant. Like when she found a serviceable vehicle they could commandeer for the trip inland. It was only lightly armoured, but that meant they could make good time.

He was about to get into the driver's seat, when she spoke up. “Why not let me drive, sir?”

The speed with which he turned to her, one hand ready to reach for her made her flinch, he saw with some satisfaction, and she put up her own hands defensively.

“Wait, wait, hear me out. Sir?”

She received a glare for her trouble, but he did nod for her to continue.

“I'm no good with rifles. So if we wanna keep anybody at a distance...” She trailed off and let him finish the thought himself. He hated to admit it, but she was probably right. She had made no request for any kind of rifle, had not even looked at any of his. And with a light vehicle they **would** need distance between them and their foes.

“And you can drive?” He was not entirely sure why he was asking; she would not be foolish enough to suggest it if that was not the case.

“I'm a damn good driver, sir.”

“Is that so? Very well, prove it then. Get in.” He walked around to the other side of the car and got in as she fired up the engine. She let it idle for a bit, while she checked the map he had uploaded to both of their omnitools.

“If we take the main road, they might be waiting for us, and this thing sure ain't a blockade runner, but if we attempt the smaller roads and bypass them, we'll end up with mercs at our backs, when we get to the base. What's your preference, sir?”

He considered it briefly. “Start with the main road. We don't know if the smaller ones are clear. We can still diverge if we need to, but let's try for the direct approach first.”

“Right. Switching to infrared, sir.” She turned off the headlights and adjusted her visor's settings. “Don't wanna announce our location more than necessary.”

It was good thinking, and he almost told her that, but caught himself in time. Instead he grunted in acknowledgement and adjusted his own visor.

Much to his annoyance she turned out to be true to her word. She **was** a good driver. They soon caught up to the stragglers of the retreating mercs. They were on foot, and when his scans of the area told him of their life signs on the road ahead, he ordered her to slow down. He opened the roof hatch and made himself a sniper's nest and picked off the first three of them, before they realised what was going on. The remaining pair disappeared into the jungle.

Now that they had entered the jungle itself he realised what she had meant. Humid did not even begin to cover it. His physiology, made for much more arid climates, rebelled against the moist air. Drawing breath felt like inhaling a live eel.

Rather than scout for the two fleeing mercs he ordered her onwards, so she gunned the engine and sped off towards the base. He sat back down. They drove a while and soon he could tell from the way she turned her head left to right and back again that she, too, was expecting the mercs to be in their immediate vicinity. By his estimate they should have caught up to them by now.

He heard it before she did; the low hum of engines – now behind them. He stuck his head back up the hatch and looked back. Of course, more advanced shielding than he had expected them to have. There they were, gunning their own engines. Not the kind of sniping he had expected to be doing, but his targets would die all the same.

“Floor it, Hamid,” he ordered.

“Yessir!” The vehicle sank onto its rear wheels, when she accelerated. Behind them, two larger vehicles lumbered onto the road and sped up in pursuit, his shields caught a round. The chase was on.

“Sharp turn. **Your** left,” Hamid's voice spoke calmly in his ear. He braced himself and had kept his balance well enough to pick off the shooter hanging out of the passenger side window in one of the vehicles behind him, while they were too busy keeping their balance through the curve to be able to shoot at him.

“Sharp right,” came her next warning. Thus warned and therefore undisturbed by the twists in the road he picked off one of the snipers behind them. On the slightly more even stretch of road, their lighter vehicle quickly put distance between them and the mercs, but there was no denying that the light plating would not last forever against the onslaught.

“Sharp right.” She drifted them through the turn at a speed higher than he probably would have done himself, and he began considering whether she was just a damn good driver, or whether she might actually be a formidable one.

“Shit! Get down! Hang on!” Her urgency told him it was not the time to doubt her call. He slid down below the edges of the hatch, and nearly lost his balance, when she swerved to his left. He did not have time to turn and see what they were coming up on, so he dug his talons into the seat, and stabilised himself just in time for the crunching sound of breaking branches to warn him of the abrupt deceleration. He could have sworn he heard her growl, as she forced the vehicle through the top of the fallen tree and back on the road.

“Clear. Ambush.”

Of course it was. Mercenaries were waiting right there to pick them off, when they crashed. Only they had not, and instead he could pick them off, as they put the felled tree and the ambush behind them.

“Sir! In front!” He turned, but not fast enough to have time to dissuade their attackers from firing on them. The two vehicles from earlier – or at least he thought it might be them – had clearly known about the barricade and taken a short-cut.

“I'll drift around behind them,” she said. Her voice still utterly calm as if a high speed chase was nothing to her. “Should give you a bead on at least one of the drivers.”

He could hardly believe what he was hearing. “What?!”

“There's room,” she insisted with confidence.

He had to give her that she was likely right. Behind the two vehicles blocking the intersection was what appeared to be a tiny meadow, hopefully not too marshy. Without protest he dropped into the seat, switched to his Crossfire, rolled down his side window and fired short controlled bursts at the mercs. It cowered them sufficiently that they only put two rounds through their windscreen. Two too many, in his opinion.

Hamid was clever. She chose a course to make it look every bit like she would try to cut in front of the larger vehicles. At the last minute, she turned and locked the wheels and slid sideways behind the blockade instead, the gravel road adding to the distance of the drift. Thus provided cover by the mercs' own transportation, their sudden loss of momentum was amply compensated by his golden opportunity not just to kill the driver of the nearest vehicle, but to fling an incendiary grenade into it.

When the human beside him gunned the engine again and sped away, the roaring sea of flames that suddenly engulfed half of their pursuers lit up their mirrors. He saw her head tilt up, and though he could not see her face, he could guess she was looking in the rear-view.

“Nice touch,” she commented. “One more to go.”

The remaining mercs turned out to be more resilient. They did not attempt another ambush and kept up their pursuit without risking much. Despite being back in the roof hatch with his Equalizer, he did not get half as many opportunities. Soon they left the dense jungle behind and came out into the abandoned colony town. The outskirts were old prefabs, but further in there were buildings. Solid buildings. Hamid kept up the break-neck speed and called every sharp turn to him. Every time they slowed down to turn a corner and the mercs got closer he hoped for a clear shot, but they had learned and swerved every time.

The sorely abused vehicle had begun complaining, front and back.

“Sir?”

“Mm hm?”

“Could you find me a t-junction?”

“Why?”

“This baby ain't exactly purring anymore. We need to end this.”

He ducked down and sat back in the seat. “You obviously have an idea.”

“Maybe. If this place has the layout I need.” She sounded far more cagey then he cared for.

“A t-junction,” he repeated her request and brought up the colony map on his omnitool.

“A tight one. As tight as you can find it and still fit the car through it.”

“I don't like the sound of that. What are you thinking?”

“I'm thinking to crash their car before this one falls apart.”

He studied her and wished he could see her eyes through the darkened visor of her helmet. She was obviously not telling him everything. She kept her attention firmly locked on the road only interrupted by brief checks her mirrors for the mercs behind them.

“How?”

She hesitated. He definitely did not like it. “I know you don't trust me, but can you at least believe I'm not out to get myself killed?”

“Outline it for me,” he demanded, though he did accept her logic as sound. As long as they were in the same vehicle she would keep them both alive or neither.

“It, ahhh, involves precisely timed use of biotics.”

“Biotics. While driving. You **are** mad.”

She made no response and did not seem inclined to explain further. He studied the map. There was a t-junction. There were several. He chose a very narrow one, wondering what possessed him to put his faith in the abilities of the human beside him.

“Third on your right,” he directed.

“Thank you, sir.” She turned and the mercs followed.

“Fourth on your left. Do not disappoint me, human. I'm warning you.”

“No, sir. What's the exact length of the street leading us to the junction? And exactly how wide is the street it opens into?”

He stared at her for a couple of heartbeats, before he consulted the map and gave her the exact distance and width and ended with “Third on your left. That's the one.”

“Right. Thanks.” The mercs were still behind them. “I'll let them get close. Let them think I'm losing speed. Could you try and convince them not to shoot too much at us?”

He realised it in a flash. “You've done this before, haven't you?”

“Yep.” There was obvious tension in her voice now.

Saren got back up and used the Crossfire to discourage too much trigger happiness from behind them. “More than once?”

“Yep.” She was devious, this woman. Slowing down, letting their pursuers think they almost had them, and then slowly speeding up. He could feel the slow, gradual acceleration, where he stood. It was his job to keep the mercs too busy to notice that they, too, were accelerating right on their heels.

“Sir, how much time do you need to strap in?”

He considered for a brief moment. “Four seconds.”

“Gotcha. I'll give you exactly that.”

He had to be mad, too. He had trusted the words and promises of humans twice before and both times it had led to unnecessary deaths. What possessed him to give this one a chance to kill the both of them in a mad dash towards a concrete wall, he could not fathom. But the mercs pursued and their current speed was ridiculous. If they swerved even a little bit they might crash against the houses flashing by in a shimmer of rectangular grey blocks.

“How well has this worked before?” He asked her between firing bursts at the merc vehicle.

“Shut up, sir. I gotta get this exactly right.” Pause. “I'm alive.”

Hard to argue with that kind of evidence. He rumbled his annoyance and hatred in his subvocals, forgetting that she would be able to hear and understand it. When he remembered he abruptly stopped himself.

“Strap in!” Her call came unexpectedly, but Saren reacted promptly. When she said she would give him exactly four seconds, he had no reason to doubt the specificity of that. He dropped heavily into the seat and deftly strapped the harness around him. The mercs had been too focused on his bursts, to notice that they could not see ahead of the vehicle they were chasing. They had not seen the wall rising in front of them. Then again, neither had he with his back turned, and now that he had strapped in, he spent half a second staring at a grey wall of sudden death right in front of them, and then Hamid lit up blue.

“Hold tight!”

He was flung towards the right in the harness, while the car groaned and was flung left. Metal creaked and gave. Hamid's door was torn right off. The bonnet began peeling off side-ways like opening a can. He nearly lost hold of the Crossfire, thankful that everything else was holstered. The ear-piercing shriek of bending metal assaulted his hearing so painfully that his vision blurred for a few milliseconds.

Then the blue glow next to him abruptly disappeared, the car swerved to the right and behind them came the deafening crash of a metal construct compacting itself against a solid, immovable object. Hamid let the car roll a bit further, putting some distance between them and the crash site, but judging from the shuddering motion it was obvious that the rear left wheel was not where it was supposed to be anymore.

They got out. Hamid leaned heavily on the car frame, which was bent so badly out of shape that Saren could hardly believe it had held together. He willed his own dizziness and the ringing in his ears to dissipate with only partial success. He left the human standing there and went to investigate the thoroughly demolished car behind them. Nothing short of a krogan could have survived that crash.

The sheer insanity of even attempting to place a biotic Singularity so accurately that you could slingshot a vehicle around the gravity well **and** give your pursuers a burst of speed into the obstacle, before the singularity winked out, was something that could only have occurred to a human mind, he was sure.

He walked back to find her sitting in the opening that was missing its door. She had slid open her visor and was quickly chugging down a ration of energy juice. Two, he corrected himself upon seeing the other empty pack in her hand.

“Amps?”

“Fine, sir. I'm just a bit... spent. Gimme a moment?” She looked up at him and met his eyes. She was apprehensive, he could tell.

“Either we walk or we find another vehicle to take us the rest of the way,” he announced. “I'll look around and see if there's anything at all to be salvaged from this place. Don't go anywhere.”

She saluted sloppily. It was unlikely that she could go anywhere even if she wanted to.

* * *

“Nihlus, if you hear me, let me know your location.”

Namira heard Arterius try in vain to raise the missing Spectre. Again. Ever since they had made it to the research facility itself, he had made an attempt at regular intervals. Still no response. Plenty of response from the mercs that currently resided on the premises, though, and it would seem the facility's own security systems were still holding up in some sections, too. At least the mercs seemed to be having problems here and there.

The moment Arterius had realised that, they had split up. Never before had Namira been one to spend a mission crawling through the vents, but here she was now, silently creeping around the facility, bruising her knees and making her spine complain more than it had any right to. She was **not** that old.

“Hamid, status?” Arterius' annoyed sneer sounded in her ear. This time, at least, she knew she was not the object of his annoyance. The three rapid discharges of a firearm – probably his heavy pistol – that had sounded before he spoke more than likely were part of that story.

“Nothing new under the sun, sir. Nor underground it seems.” She paused, when she heard voices floating up through a grate further ahead. “Just a sec, sir. I'ma listen in on a conversation here. Let you know if they talk about something other than the size of their dicks.”

“Acknowledged.” He had laughed and not bothered to hide it very well. She hoped that meant he had forgotten the inexplicable anger and threats from earlier.

She crept forward, ever so careful not to make any sounds that should not be coming from a vent. At least it was an old facility, so the place was full of metal that groaned at the slightest change in temperature. Even if she messed up and made noises, people below might just shrug it off. Might. She would not put her faith in that.

“-he do it?”

“I dunno, man, I dunno, but I'll be a happy man, if I never see another security system come back to life out of nowhere.”

“He's doing it. I'm telling you.”

“Alone? You think it's all him?”

“He arrived alone. Who else would it be? Unless you're suggesting one of us has joined him?” The hint of a threat in the voice was not lost on Namira, and apparently not on its interlocutor either. They clearly had differing rank in whichever unit they operated.

“No, no. Never! It's just... weird.”

“Nah. I once heard of a guy, who could whip up...”

The pair of voices disappeared out of her hearing range. Arterius would want to know this.

“Arterius?”

“Here, Hamid. Got something?”

“Maybe, sir.” She spoke quietly, while she slowly crept onwards. “First a warning: Security systems randomly go live in here. I doubt they discriminate between us and the mercs. Watch your step.” She heard him snort softly at the other end. “Second: one of the mercs I just heard talking. One of them's convinced it's a guy doing it. Your Spectre-friend wouldn't happen to be the techie-type, who might fancy hacking security systems and using them?”

“Not his preferred style, but he could do it.”

“Oh, and one more thing, sir. They said something about him arriving alone. They must have gotten here before him.”

The tones in his subvocals were harsh, unrelenting and they lasted for all of seven seconds. The turian equivalent of a stream of curses. It almost felt like being on a mission with The Boss again.

“Uh sir?”

“What!”

“What the fuck were they doing here? The research, I mean. These people aren't here to protect a fucking patent or some shit.”

“Very astute. You've asked that question four times now. I'm no more likely to tell you now than I was an hour ago.”

Namira knew that was probably aggravatingly true. “Sorry, sir.”

“They must have infiltrated the guard staff here.”

That was the obvious answer. “Yeah. Probably Suns.”

“Hardly. They all have tattoos that would have revealed their allegiance. They would have been found out before anyone would hire them.”

Namira paused. Did he really not know? “Sir...” she started, unsure whether it was a good idea to flaunt knowledge he did not have.

He caught on, though. “What do you know, Hamid?”

“Have you ever actually spoken to a merc, sir? I mean, before me?”

She heard his exasperated trill. “Only when I hire them. Don't waste my time, Hamid, out with it!”

“The Suns have tattoos, yeah, but they remove 'em, before going undercover. An acid wash and then medigel. It don't leave no scars and the tat can just be re-applied, when the job is over.” She did not want to think too much about this process. It brought her to uncomfortable places, but he needed to know this so he would not make an error when evaluating the threat these mercs posed. They were staffed by humans and turians, and she had heard the voice of a lone batarian somewhere. Everything about them screamed Blue Suns, and she had no love for them at all. Keeping their secrets was not high on her list of priorities.

Arterius' voice, when he next spoke, was silky smooth in all its intimidating undertones. “And how do you know such trade secrets of a major merc gang, human. I thought yours was a little independent crew.”

“It was, sir. But we had an ex-Sun join us for a couple of years. He wanted to leave the criminal work behind and settle down and shit. He even talked about family. But leaving is hard, so he joined us as a sorta transition thing. He told me about this.”

“I see.” Distrust was still powerful in his subvocals, but she could tell there was also a degree of relief in there. Figuring out what he might be relieved about was for another time, however.

“I'ma see if I can find a way to move further down, sir. I get the feeling that's where we'll find your guy.”

“There should be three elevator shafts south-east of your location. You can get there before me, I have... things to take care of here. Scope out the floors, see if you can find out, where he is. Then I'll meet you there.”

“Acknowledged.” Checking the incomplete schematics they were working with, she wondered how he could tell about those elevators. Maybe he had found more detailed plans of the facility somewhere. Another thing for another time. He had no reason to sabotage his own mission, so she would trust his intel and turn left next chance she got.

By the time she made it to the elevators she was thoroughly sick of vents and ducts, and there was still no response from this Nihlus. Listening in on another conversation told her that the elevators themselves behaved erratically. Apparently the hacker had hit them as well. Unfortunately it also meant that climbing down through a shaft could be fatal. She had no particular desire to get hit over the head with an elevator car.

More vents. She sighed and grumbled to herself as she found a grate, through which she could enter the big ducts running vertically through the facility next to the elevators. Looking inside it, up and down, all she saw was a narrow circular tube filled with darkness and nothing to hold on to. She hoped she would have the strength for this. Her back against one side and her feet against the other, she slowly, carefully slid her way down through the floors of the complex, listening for any hints as to what was going on and constantly scanning for any signs of combat.

Three floors down she found it. Opening the nearest grate nearly had her lose her footing, and it was with rapid breaths and cold sweat building up behind her ears that she heaved herself through it and onto the floor of the maintenance room. She quickly confirmed that, at least according to the mercs, this floor was where they were engaged with one or more enemies. She raised Arterius on the comms and told him as much. Reception was exceedingly bad and it was difficult to decipher words through the crackle of interference.

She had suggested he take her route.

“Turians don't climb very well,” he had told her. “Especially not down. Meet me by the elevator in fifteen.”

The bastard had hacked the elevator, because of course he had. “Y'all couldn't just have brought me along for that ride?” She asked him, when he stepped through the sliding doors.

“Then we wouldn't have known which floor to reach. What are we looking at?”

She told him everything she had observed, while she had darted from hiding place to hiding place under the cover of the tactical cloak. There definitely was someone down there, heavily besieged by mercs. She had not made it close enough to tell who it was.

He thought it over. “I'll try to raise Nihlus again in a moment. I'll send you to him. I'll create a diversion elsewhere, try and draw the mercs away from you.”

“Why not just go to him both of us?”

“Because he might not be in a condition, where fighting on the way is viable. I'll draw them off. Keep them occupied. You get him out.”

“And what about you?”

“Keep your comm open.”

She was doubtful it was good idea to split up, when they were about to take the real confrontation. During sneaking and infiltrating it made sense, but for a firefight she did not relish the idea of isolating themselves.

“Nihlus,” Arterius spoke again.

“Saren? What are you doing here? This isn't your mission.” Namira and Arterius looked at each other, both of them cocking their heads slightly. The voice answering his hail this time was slurred and distant. Stims.

“You're late. The Council thought you might need help.” Arterius kept his voice calm, but he had begun to shift from one foot to the other. Namira said nothing and waited for the order to move out.

An explosion sounded close by in the background. They could hear it from further inside the facility as well.

“Dammit, so many of them. Fuck off, why don't you? Damn mechs.”

“Nihlus,” Arterius tried to get his attention again.

“Saren? What are you doing here?” Namira turned sharply towards the Spectre next to her. This was bad. He held up a hand to stall her.

“Helping you, Nihlus. I'm sending an associate of mine to your location.”

“Thank you, I could use the extra fire power.”

Arterius briefly switched to a channel that did not include his fellow Spectre and spoke to Namira. “I'll keep reminding him that I'm sending you. Go. Help him. I'll provide a distraction.”

He turned and headed through a door while Namira sprinted towards where the explosion had echoed seconds earlier. As much as she was beginning to like this tactical cloak and the ability it conveyed to sneak past enemies without having to confront them, she did stop here and there to kill one. Sneak up, biotic hold, gun muzzle close to the head, shields useless. It made her feel a little mean, like she had an unfair advantage, but she shook off the feeling. She had seen the bodies of the legitimate staff of the facility. They had received no better.

Besides, Blue Suns were not her friends. Never. And thinning the crowd before having to transport a deeply confused person out of there seemed like a good idea.

Eventually she reached a walkway – a gallery stretching all the way around a large open space. The walkway was littered with merc corpses and not the pretty kind with neat little holes in their foreheads either. Grenades had taken out many of them, she could tell. Here and there it seemed that sustained fire from a turret had simply ripped them apart – perhaps the security measures those mercs had been talking about.

Arterius kept talking to Nihlus. It seemed the more times he was told, the longer he managed to retain it each time. That was something, she supposed.

On the floor below her, fragments of mechs littered the floor around the opening to the next room, which appeared to be of similar layout. Tactical cloak active she sneaked along the walkway, through a door, and onto the walkway in the next room. A bridge crossed the room with no cover to be had on it. Nobody had dared take up position there, but from it she would be able to drop right down in the middle of the mercs.

At the far end of the room was a barricade. Or rather, someone had barricaded themselves behind the remains of an YMIR. It was big enough, sure, but also completely trashed and of no use. Namira switched to the private comm.

“Sir? Got eyes on him, I think.”

Arterius responded immediately. “You think?”

“Mm hm. You know him best. Think he can be relied upon for a coordinated effort? I don't wanna get caught in a crossfire between him and the mercs.”

“Maybe. I can probably talk him through it. What do you need?”

“Eh, I was hoping for more than maybe and probably, but it'll do.”

A quiet “hah” tickled her ears. Amazed at how much his spirits had lifted upon hearing his friend's voice again, she quickly outlined the plan. It was painfully simple, but she dared not rely on anything complex with an ally who was not entirely 'there'. He would lay a suppressing fire on the right side of the room – his right. That should keep enough of them busy, while she dealt with the ones on his left.

“Just keep reminding him not to shoot the only asari-ish person in the room, aight? All the other humans I see are in medium or heavy type armour. Even in his current state, he should be able to tell, yeah? I don't see any other biotics, either.”

“Good.” She heard clanging and crashing in the background.

“Uhhh, sir? What are you doing?”

“Distraction. Let me know, when you want to do this.” Did he sound a little impatient now? Yeah, yeah he did. Namira was fairly certain that might not be a good sign.

“Now. Now is good.”

“Switch comms again, then,” he directed.

She heard him lay out the plan for his friend. Such a difference between the two of them, she mused. While Arterius could hardly even bring himself to trust that she would keep herself alive, his friend not only implicitly trusted Arterius, but by extension also his ally; her. How those two had ever become friends was hard to imagine in this situation, though surely they had something in common.

With one Spectre guiding the other, she could make quick work of the enemies left to her. The time for tactical cloak and silenced pistols had come and gone. Biotics and shotgun was the way to go, and in no time she was sitting next to a turian with dark red plates and extensive white markings, who was sitting in an entirely too big pool of blue blood.

“Oh shit. Where are you hurt?”

The turian turned his dazed, green eyes to her and put a hand on his chest plate. Namira was dismayed, but then he spoke: “My heart. Ma'ila. You floated down from above like a spirit of battle. Beautiful. So beautiful my heart hurts.”

The ugly snort at the other end of her comm told her Arterius had heard that.

“Hey. Hey!” She tried to get the injured Spectre to focus.

“Beautiful...”

“Spectre. Nihlus! How many stims have you taken?” She grasped his chin and tried to get a good look at his eyes. Very bright green, but with very small pupils. Way too many stims.

Suddenly his hand found her waist and started gently stroking her. Oh, this was heading into territory it was definitely not supposed to go.

“Hey! Hands off! Where are you injured, Spectre?”

This time he at least managed to indicate his left thigh. His hand remained on her waist, however, and she pushed it off.

She undid the seals on his hardsuit, so she could get to him. Getting the greaves off of him was difficult, as he did not at all grasp what she meant to do. Or maybe he did, because his hands kept coming back to her waist, appropriate only if the part about undressing him was about something entirely different.

“Oh, for fuck's sake,” she grumbled. When she finally succeeded in relieving him of the unyielding material, it was clear where she needed to be looking for the wound: the back of his thigh. His shields must have dropped, and the round punched through his armour.

“Lie down. On your belly.”

He trilled and hummed and made the most lewd subvocalisations she had heard in a while. “Not in the mood for foreplay, beautiful.” His hand found her waist again. She removed it again.

Then Arterius spoke in her ear again, his subvocals tinted with barely restrained laughter. “If you think he needs a stern talking-to, his full name is Nihlus Kryik, Council Spectre.”

“Thank you, sir. I think,” she muttered under her breath. She knew that last name. Most mercs did. He was not as infamous as Arterius, but he was quickly making a name for himself; A ruthless one, if not quite as brutal and destructive as Arterius'.

“Mmm, why don't you call **me** , sir?” The hand, which was once again back on her waist, attempted to get a firmer grip, but the turian before her was greatly weakened, and even she would be able to take him down in a sparring match. He probably couldn't even stand. Though that made him easier to handle right now, it would also make it harder to get him out alive.

Namira had an idea and put on her most stern command-voice. “Because if I'm the one to call **you** sir, you won't be doing what I tell you, Spectre Kryik.” And then she switched to more dulcet, seductive tones. “And believe me, you wanna do what I say.” It was not even a lie. She needed him to cooperate.

“Ohhh, you play like that.” His hand found her waist again. This time she did not remove it herself.

“Spectre Kryik,” she found her stern voice for this again. “Comport yourself with some dignity, and stop fondling my assets, if you please. And believe me, you do want to please.” The deception made her feel dirty and she took only slight comfort in the fact that with the amount of stims he was obviously on, he probably would not remember any of this, when he came out of it. At least it worked; he removed his hand as if burned.

“Yes, ma'am.” In her ear she could still hear the low hiss of Arterius' laughter.

“Good, now lie down. Like I told you.”

Obediently he let her examine the wound in his thigh. He had lost a lot of blood, and his entire suit supply of medigel had only barely stemmed the flow. A slug was lodged in his femur. Thankfully, her omnitool could tell her that it was not of a kind that would poison him. And she was so very, very pleased that she had insisted on bringing dextro medigel for exactly this situation. Tired though she was, she could lay a few stitches to make sure the wound would not re-open on their way out.

Supporting him would also be necessary. She could possibly improvise a crutch, but she was not optimistic about his successful use of it. Checking the room Nihlus had been guarding did not improve her mood any further.

“Sir, I think we'll have to join up on the way out.”

“Why?”

“Because he is very, very weakened. I doubt he can walk all the way.” She quickly outlined the nature of his leg wound and the blood-loss. “Actually, sir, I think he has more of a stimstream than a bloodstream right now. I can't risk giving him more. The first place he told me was hurting was his heart. I... I think that's actually the truth.”

The channel went very quiet, and all she heard was the background hum of the facility's lighting and the playful thrumming of the red-plated turian, who was currently sitting by her side, leaning into her and caressing her waist in an entirely inappropriate manner. Calling her Ma'ila once in a while.

Another string of curses flowed through the comm; this time both in subvocals and in words – all of which were unflattering things about Kryik, his clan, his colony and, surprisingly, those sexual proclivities of his, she was trying to keep in check.

“Can you get to the elevator on your own?”

“Possibly.” She considered it. “Might take us a while, but yeah, I think so.”

“Can you, or can you not, hu-, Hamid?” She noticed his slip, but said nothing.

“Sorry, sir. That's all I can give you. I can't say what will happen once I start moving him.”

The sound he made was unhappy. “Guess it's my turn to make do with a 'maybe' and a 'probably', then. Let me know when you're ready to move out.”

“We can move out now, sir.”

“Good. Go.”

“Acknowledged.”

* * *

When he had eventually replaced Hamid underneath Nihlus' arm his protegé had made a pathetic, whining noise and the human had groaned. Even when she had no longer had to hold off mercs and could focus solely on supporting Nihlus they had still been moving too slowly. When Saren began to run low on ammo he called for them to switch places. He might only have one hand free, when lugging his fellow Spectre around, but the woman's biotics were more powerful than his.

Safe outside the facility he headed straight for one of the mercs' vehicles. “You drive!” He ordered her. Surprise was evident in her posture, but she quickly recovered and slid into the driver's seat, while he deposited Nihlus in the back. Surprise had been his own reaction, when she had taken over the offensive on the way out and shown a far more extensive penchant for violence than he would have expected.

She did not act at all surprised, when he called up his omnitool, adjusted a few settings, and the ground beneath them started to rumble. Her little hum, surprisingly reminiscent of a turian's, indicated contentment, but he could not see her face and could not determine, whether she was smiling. He thought she might just be, when the facility behind them sank down upon itself and left a crater about the same size as the town they drove through on their way back to the ships.

When he had gotten Nihlus safely into his own bunk, given him something to counteract the stims, and felt confident he would make it – at least if they hung back and watched over him for a few days – he went back outside.

The human was standing outside Nihlus' ship, looking out across the ocean. He joined her there.

“Will he be alright?”

“Yes.” Despite her initial, infuriating attitude, she had come through and given him the back-up he had needed to save Nihlus. He still had no idea why she had agreed.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“I need... my waist... uhm, I'm...”

He suppressed a shudder of revulsion. “If you think I'll finish what he attempted to start, you're sorely mistaken.”

“What? No!” He was relieved to hear her sound horrified. That was at least something. “Nonono! I'm injured. He... it was an accident. On the way out. I think he put too much weight on his leg and fell, and then he just sorta... well... talons. You know... his arm was around me, so...”

“Get inside.”

They walked to his ship. Now that he had the presence of mind to notice her, he could tell she moved stiffly. Once inside she took off the helmet. Her skin was wet and he could feel heat radiating off of her. “Well? Show me.”

“I can't. If I move too much, I tear it open again. I thought medigel had taken care of it. It probably had, but then when I sat down to drive, I think I opened it back up. Didn't notice till I was standing still waiting for you to tuck in your friend.”

“So no sitting down. Fine. Wait here.” He got the levo med kit and when he returned to her, she had opened the seals and clasps of the armour and undersuit – at least the ones she could get to. She turned her back to him, and in this properly lit area he could now easily see where a talon had first worked its way through the material and then dragged from her left side and across her lumbar region.

He undid the rest of the fastenings and carefully peeled the armour and undersuit off her shoulders, down her arms, and laid her back bare. Red blood looked wrong, he once again concluded, but she had spilled it on **his** mission in favour of **his** friend, so it was on him to patch her up.

She hissed in pain when he cleaned the wound, but she said nothing besides. “Put your left hand on your right shoulder,” he told her.

“I'd really rather not,” she grunted. “Pulls at the wound.”

“Exactly. With stitches and medigel we'll have it closed soon enough, and you don't want it to re-open again, when next you sit down.”

“Ah, no. Good point.” She followed his instructions and he set about stitching her up. Thankfully, it was not at all deep, so if she could manage to stay still, the scar would probably only be a thin line. One to add to the sizable collection of scars she had in that area, he noted, many of which were obviously also placed there by a set of turian talons. For all her protestations of disinterest in Nihlus' stim-addled advances, things might apparently have been different, if his protegé had been clear-headed. Good to know.

“Why didn't you say anything sooner?”

She snorted softly. “Didn't wanna slow us down. Didn't have time to fix it. And he was hurt worse than me.”

He could hardly disagree with her.

“And,” she continued, “I didn't wanna risk him hearing it. He seemed the type to make a fuss about my minor wounds rather than looking out for his own major health hazard.”

“Well, you're not wrong,” Saren told her. “He'll feel terrible about this when he wakes up.”

The human in front of him let out a short derisive laugh. “You can't seriously think he'll remember any of this, when he wakes up?”

He finished the last of the stitches and patted her leg, signalling her that she could pull her suit back up.“Not if nobody tells him, no.”

Hamid turned to face him. “I won't tell, if you don't.”

Considering it for a moment he sent her the nastiest grin he could muster. “But then who will hold it over his head and extract favours from him?”

She gaped at him and then shook her head. “Damn, Arterius, with friends like you, who needs enemies?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always I welcome any and all feedback. I have gotten precious little so far, and I am very interested to hear, what people think. I have no fully fleshed out plans for this fic, only the barest skeleton of an outline, so giving me feedback is a chance for influencing how things will proceed.


	6. Grief and Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in the present. Things are not pretty, Namira is confusing, and Saren does not like being confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been written partially in the mood of this excellent piece: [Marli by Ewan Dobson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g6aZydmmcws) His use of flagiolets and overtones seemed so incredibly appropriate for this chapter.

They had not yet debriefed. Had not had time to truly discuss a single thing. Getting off that moon he had been so keyed up to give her a piece of his mind; one that would probably have left scars, but now?

Neither of them had really slept for five days; dozed at the most. The last truly calm moment had been when she had briefly joined him in the cockpit to catch the view of the explosion on the viewscreen. The tight, satisfied hum and the cold smile in her eyes was a grimace he could agree with, and so he had put off the painful de-briefing he had meant to put her through. No, there had been another calm moment since then. Thinking about it still unsettled him. It just did not seem right.

At first he had wanted to set a course for the nearest medical centre, but he had contacted Huerta directly instead as soon as they reached a comm buoy. They had confirmed his suspicions. For injuries like these no medical centre in the Traverse would have been able to help them anyway. In fact, the two of them could help just as much by following the doctors' instructions.

They had done so, both of them constantly hovering around the five gurneys. Arriving at the relay after seven hours and him needing to pilot them through, he had left Namira in charge of them alone with no incident aside from her sounding even more harried, when he rejoined her. After two days of constant efforts there had seemed to be a lull. He had almost hoped for a nap after making the next relay jump. He might have dozed off, but according to the datafeeds it could only have been mere minutes if any at all. The sound that had startled him out of it had been so utterly foreign to him, and yet not.

He had not heard such a thing in many, many years, and it had been all wrong. But now as he looked at her, he was beginning to doubt his own perceptions. Five days without proper sleep was too much even for a turian.

There were doctors outside his airlock now, waiting for everything to clear and for the hatch to open. He had pulled some strings, made sure Sparatus was informed of the gravity of the situation, and that under no circumstances would he be docking anywhere but in Huerta's emergency services dock. The new Councillor had come through for him. Saren had read his dossier, when he was instated a few years earlier, and though the man's military record was fine, he had no notion what to expect from him as a Councillor dealing with the grittier side of Spectre-business. Now was the time to find out.

Brow-beating his way to landing directly at Huerta had been the easy part. Convincing Sparatus to deliver the rest had been interesting to say the least, and he still had no idea whether the still round-fringed Councillor would be able to deliver. Willing? Probably. Able? Time would tell.

The airlock whined and both of them winced. They had rolled out the four gurneys and readied them for the doctors to take over. Everyone had been briefed. Nonetheless, when the hatch opened one of the nurses turned back at the sight of the Taetran boy. To his credit it took him only seconds to recover and start working, albeit having turned a shade darker than before.

Saren and Namira followed them inside. There would be families waiting. And administrators whose job it would be to identify the families who would not be getting good news but rather just a body to burn. And Sparatus. Saren really hoped the Councillor had found someone who could adequately handle the coordination effort that would be involved in this mess.

The noises of the hospital assaulted his senses and tested his already thinly stretched patience. It could not be helped. Blaring electronics, shouts, croaks and keening were to be expected, shuffling feet, murmurs and the sounds of life and death were simply just painful after having gone so long without rest. He studied the human, who had followed the Taetran boy, but had been locked out of the room they had taken him to. She was leaning against the window, keeping an eye on what happened in there.

“She truly cares?” The question came from his left. Sparatus. Saren usually opted to ignore questions that had obvious answers. He saw no reason to diverge from that routine now. What he could tell the Councillor was far beyond what he was comfortable acknowledging had even happened.

“Councillor.” He gave no acknowledgement of having heard the question at all.

“Spectre.” Sparatus said nothing else. Good. He could take a hint. That was something, at least.

He turned his attention back to the human – still in full Commando outfit, pretending for all the world to be an asari. The curtains were drawn with hurried movements, her vision of what happened to the boy now obscured. He saw her almost bang her fists against the window, but she stopped herself mid-movement, turned around and slid down to sit on the floor. Feet apart, legs bent, arms resting on her knees, head hanging, the picture of exhaustion. Or despair. Could be either – or both. Given what he had learned of her on this trip alone, it was probably both.

“I see.” Sparatus commented drily.

“No, you don't, Councillor. Not yet. But you might.”

“If you say so.” Sparatus sounded skeptical and turned fully to him, ignoring the human at the other end of the room. “This is the second big op in this case, Spectre. Aside from the smaller ones. I will need to assign you a civilian liaison.”

Saren grunted in half-attentive acknowledgment, and watched Namira out of the corner of his eye.

“Civilian...” he repeated, letting his scepticism and displeasure show in his subvocals.

“Not that much of a civilian,” Sparatus reassured him, his subvocals placating and soothing. His sleep-deprived state must be quite apparent to him. “I simply do not have the time to be involved in anything of this magnitude.”

A couple walked over to the seated human. She looked up at them. The movement she made to unmute her mic, allowing him to listen in on their conversation, was discreet, and once again he found himself appreciating how seamlessly she had managed to insert herself into his operations and even made it seem like it was natural for her.

“Are you Miss Namira?” The female spoke with a commanding tone, clearly expecting to either be given a yes or directions to the requested person.

The woman in question tensed as she lifted her head to look up at them, and in response Saren did as well. He relaxed again, when she turned in his direction and slowly, subtly shook her head.

She got up to greet them. “Please do not say that name aloud here.”

“But you are...uh she, are you not?” It was the male this time.

He saw her tilt her head. She was studying them like she had studied him so often lately. Then she nodded. “Yes. Yes, I am. And I presume you are Caelis' parents?” Saren was fairly confident she already knew the answer to that question and had merely clarified it for his benefit.

Both the turians standing with their backs to him stood a little more proudly at the mention of their daughter's name. “Correct. You recognise...?”

“Your clan markings,” Namira said. “And she quite obviously has your striking colouring, sir. And your eyes and mandibles, ma'am.”

Spirits, the pair of them positively preened. The woman certainly knew how to flatter people. Sparatus attempted to speak to him – something about introducing him to that C-Sec liaison – but Saren silenced him with a look, and a gesture to his ear piece. The Councillor caught on and left him in peace, thankfully spotting someone else he could harass in the meantime.

“We wanted to thank you for saving her; for saving all of them, Miss.” Good, they did as she had requested and avoided her name. Like she avoided most names from her past. As much as she claimed to remember them fondly, she had not mentioned a single one of their names to him, despite them being dead and not likely to affect her life anymore. He wondered, but had thus far not found a good reason for this. Sooner or later she would let something slip, he would make sure of it.

“You're welcome,” Saren heard her say. “How did you know I was going to be here?”

“We have our sources,” the male explained. “We wanted to reward you. Spectres are on a pay-roll, but freelancers need their bounties.”

“You really don't have to. Arterius is paying me,” she lied for no reason that he could discern. “Whatever you have for me, please use it to help these children and their families.”

“But treatment at Huerta will not cost them anything,” the female protested.

“No, but life long disability services will.” After having heard her lament, Saren found it was now easier to identify how grief sounded in a human voice. Or at least in her voice; and it was heavy with just that when she continued: “As will funeral services.”

The male shook his head in sadness. “Oh. Spirits. How many...?”

“Too many. Dead when we got there. And one died on the way here. In my arms.” For a moment she allowed herself to sound like someone who had not slept properly for five days. Just a moment, though.

“And the murderers?” The cold fury in the female's voice reminded him of Namira's own. Maybe it was a female thing that traversed species, this fierce defensiveness when it came to children. No. It couldn't be. There had been females among the researchers they had killed. Definitely not universal.

“Dead,” Namira assured them. “We were very thorough. Base is nothing but dust and vapour now. Unfortunately, there might be other bases. I'm afraid this won't be the last of such operations we clean up. So please, set up a fund, help the families, organise support, whatever you think might be needed. Just help them. They will need it. Especially the little guy in here.”

“How so?” It was the male again.

“They...” She faltered. Saren was not certain it was wise of her to tell them in a crowded room, but getting them to form a tight-knit support network could actually prevent news from leaking everywhere that they were unravelling the network of torturous experiments. Her deep breath sounded in his ear piece and then she told them. “They completely removed his fringe.”

“No...” The female looked like her legs were about to buckle beneath her. Her mate wrapped an arm around her, supporting her, but his own fringe was suddenly tucked down very tightly. “Spirits, no.” Neither of them looked like they wanted to hear anything else.

Namira nodded. “Help them. They will need it. And our work is not yet done. Please give Caelis my regards. She is a most remarkable girl. Now, if you'd please excuse me.”

She left the stunned and very distressed looking pair and made a bee-line for his own location in the busy room.

“Back to the ship?” She asked the moment she was standing next to him. “I need to get out of this place. It stinks of death and fear.”

He sniffed cautiously. All he got was anti-septic and soap. Her human sense of smell must be better than his. Waving Sparatus over to join them, Saren noticed he was accompanied by a female he did not recognise. She wore a C-sec officer's uniform. The liaison.

“Spectre Arterius,” she greeted him respectfully. “I am very glad someone is finally making headway with these cases.”

Sparatus held up a hand, halting any further conversation. “I think it's best that we conduct any further business in somewhat greater privacy. Spectre, lead on?”

Saren nodded and motioned for them all to follow him back to the ship. Namira would not be getting the rest she was looking for just yet.

* * *

Once back on board all four of them filed into the multi-purposed cargo hold. Sparatus looked around, curious to see how the renowned Spectre had set up his personal work and living space. Upon seeing the containment units, now essentially a semi-mobile morgue, he noticed that Captain Yorlik tensed slightly. It seemed the human saw it, too, the tilt of her head was a movement he had learned was quite common for humans when studying something or pondering it. Oddly, she ended her study by stiffening ever so slightly.

“You aren't just investigating these cases, are you, ma'am?” She asked, not waiting for any introductions.

“Very perceptive,” Captain Yorlik confirmed. “What gave me away?”

The human shrugged. “You're tense. Expecting bad news. Am I correct in guessing that you have a bunch of missing persons cases and one of them is someone you know?” Sparatus found he admired the way she could completely mask any human sounding accent and tone and make herself sound enough like an asari to be convincing. Wasted efforts right now; Arterius had already briefed him about the situation, and the C-Sec Captain would know soon enough.

“Quite. I specifically requested to be stationed with C-Sec, so I could be here, where all the news filter through. My mate is back home on Palaven.”

The human, Arterius had called her Hamid, nodded her understanding and before either of them could speak, he decided to take charge of the situation – at least for now: “I suppose introductions are in order. Captain, you know Saren Arterius?”

“By reputation, at least,” the C-Sec officer acknowledged. “And for that reason, I must admit I'm surprised to see you handling this case, sir.”

Sparatus kept his reactions under tight control. If Arterius perceived that remark as a slight, their future work might be made very difficult. Luckily the Spectre merely acknowledged the statement with a nod of his own. “It was not a case I would have chosen. It ended up with me by chance.” Arterius did look a bit worn. If that meant he woud be slightly less difficult than normal, Sparatus would consider himself lucky, despite the grim situation.

“Ah, I see.” The female, in addition, was fearless, Sparatus concluded. Utterly unimpressed with Arterius' reputation for brutality and, as far as he could tell, also completely unfazed by anything else she might know about him. The picture of professionalism. He was more than a little proud to have the likes of her represent their people among C-Sec.

“Spectre, this is Captain Yorlik. As your associate guessed, she has a most impressive file with missing persons reports.”

Once again Sparatus noticed that Hamid had tensed beside him.“Yorlik...” she tested the name.

“You can call me Arixa. I imagine we shall be speaking quite a lot in the near future.”

Hamid nodded, shuffling from one foot to the other. “So, you want to get the personal stuff out of the way first? Or would you rather save it for last?” Interesting offer. Far more polite than he would have expected from Arterius' report about an ex-merc and ex-con, but so far the human had conducted herself in perfect orderliness.

“I would know your name, asari. All but you have been introduced.”

The human turned to Arterius. “Uhh, sir? This one's your call.” Unexpectedly respectful, too.

“Go ahead. The Councillor already knows,” the Spectre told her.

She looked to him and then back to Arterius. “What? But you said... nevermind.” She turned back to face the Captain. “Name's Namira.”

“Namira what?” Captain Yorlik spoke more harshly than was necessary. Arterius had informed him of the human's identity, but the Captain had no way of knowing that, and she was prepared to interrogate the 'commando' standing in front of her. Fearless. Sparatus suppressed the smirk his mandibles threatened to reveal.

“Hamid.”

Captain Yorlik's mandibles spread wide in surprise as her gaze shifted quickly between himself and the human in asari commando armour. “You're... not asari.”

Namira shook her head, then unfastened her helmet and took it off.

“And you...” Arixa referred to him with narrowed eyes. “...knew this?” Sparatus dipped his mandibles in confirmation. After getting Arterius' information about this most unconventional choice of associate, he now merely gazed curiously at her unusual fringe-like hair. The female studied her as well, though she kept her reactions closely guarded. Letting them study her without comment Hamid walked to a bunk and left the helmet there as well as her gloves, one of which she peeled off with a grimace. She looked slightly surprised, when she took in the swelling around her knuckles. She must be exhausted as well. The swelling was obvious, even to him, inexperienced though he was with human anatomy.

Arterius had seen it as well. “Get that looked at before we leave.”

The human shrugged. “Not much reason for it. They'll give me pain meds like the ones we already have and they'll bandage it no better than I can do myself. It just needs time.”

“That was not a suggestion, Hamid.”

“But... oh. Yessir. Will do.”

She rejoined them at his right and addressed the Captain. “I imagine you must have a lot of questions.”

To Captain Yorlik's credit she did not, though Sparatus did not like the glare he received. Her fearlessness might end up giving him a few headaches before they were done here. “Only one,” she said. “Why would you think I have personal stuff to discuss? I have a long list of missing persons, and we are going to see if any of the deceased match.”

“Captain,” Arterius cut in, “I'm sure some if not all of them will, but there is one we can be certain about already. A boy, whom I would presume is your son, among them. There's no doubt.”

“You are absolutely certain, Spectre?” She had quickly regained control of her anxiously fluttering mandibles and now tucked them in tight. She had a job to do, and like any good turian she would do it before concerning herself with personal business.

“Absolutely,” he confirmed.

“You do not have my lists, so that means you must have seen him. Identified clan markings?”

“You assume correctly, Captain Yorlik, so unless any other children from your clan is missing...?”

She held up a hand, stopping him. “No, thank the Spirits, no others. One is plenty. Let's-” She swallowed. “Let us check the rest of them and see how many families will get closure. After that I will see to my boy.”

Sparatus left the Spectre and the Captain to their work. Yorlik would put it all together and contact any clans represented on the Citadel and leave a list of clans for him to contact elsewhere. That was a series of vid calls he did not look forward to making.

For now he would have to deal with the human. Arterius had requested he set up a few things to help them work through this mission, which had turned out to be a good deal more complicated than anyone had assumed. Anyone, it would seem, except for the dark-skinned human, currently standing next to him, passively observing the two turians working their way through lists, names and clan markings.

Sparatus had not forgotten Arterius' frustration, bordering on rage, when he first informed him of his accidental ally two months earlier. The sight of the Spectre, usually so collected and in control, pacing back and forth in his office still remained vivid in his mind. A long rant, surprisingly not about the human herself, but about how incompetent the turian authorities had to be to not have realised there was a connection between so many missing children. Incompetent enough to be outdone by a mere human amateur, who had come impressively far in an investigation before anyone else had realised a concerted effort was even necessary.

Sparatus had been patient and pointed out that authorities had very little feel for what was going on in the Terminus, and even intel from colonies in the Traverse was patchy at best. He had studiously avoided pointing out that the Council relied rather a lot on the Spectres to gather intel in the less accessible corners of the galaxy. Nonetheless, by the time Arterius had left his office, he was fairly convinced the Spectre had arrived at the same conclusion, being no less agitated as a result. All the more reason to introduce him to one of those few, who **had** realised the necessity of coordinated efforts. They seemed to be working well together after all of ten minutes' acquaintance. Turian professionalism at its best.

“Hamid,” he started.

“Yessir?” She turned to him and gave him her full attention. She seemed a lot less intense now that he could see her eyes, which were bloodshot and swollen. Had she cried? **Did** humans cry like asari? It looked as if they might.

He looked a little more closely. He really ought to familiarise himself further with their species outside of their behaviour during political negotiations. They had already become a significant player in the galaxy, after all. Yes. There were odd tracks down her cheeks. Humans definitely could cry. Not that he expected that to be relevant in politics, but you never knew. “Arterius requested you be set up with a new identity.”

“Uhh sir?” He easily recognised confusion in her facial expression. That was probably the first one everybody learned to recognise in other species.

Of course the Spectre had neglected to tell her. It was really no wonder people became frustrated with him. He seemed to enjoy keeping people in the dark for as long as possible.

Sparatus was reminded of a short vid from one of their ops that Arterius had sent him along with his reports. It had contained footage from the both of them in a split screen as they boarded a transport ship. Being just the two of them for a boarding mission had been optimistic – even for the infamously brutal Spectre – and then it became clear that some of their intel had been faulty. In his report Arterius had detailed that he had been well aware of the situation, but had kept Hamid misinformed to test her. Even when given new orders mid-op – orders Hamid had not agreed with at all – she had still carried them out muttering a long string of impressively creative curses to a closed comm, unaware that the Spectre had made sure to get footage to be reviewed afterwards.

There could be no doubt that he was difficult to work with, but nor was there any doubt that the human was committed to putting up with it for the sake of the mission. A curiously turian attitude. It was certainly a significant part of the reason he had at all considered granting Arterius' request for a new identity for Hamid.

When Sparatus had taken the Councillor's seat a few years earlier, rumour had it that Arterius had been getting everything he requested no matter what and no matter the expense. It was almost correct. Almost. And the reason for it was so simple. Arterius always gave a good reason for why he needed an item or an expense covered, and they came with full documentation. He never requisitioned anything he did not actually need. And this time it was a human he needed for a mission. No one would ever believe it. Not after the debacle with that human Spectre candidate years earlier.

Pushing his ruminations aside, Sparatus set about introducing Hamid to her newest tool of the trade: “Your identity will be dual, as requested. Asari on the surface, a primary identity to not raise suspicion. However, should anybody with a sufficient security clearance look into it, they will get your secondary human identity – also a fabrication, naturally. You would need to think of a new name for your human profile. I presume you have not done this yet?”

“Uhh no, sir. I didn't know about any of this.” She still had that slightly confused look about her. Or maybe it had changed a bit? Did it mean something else now?

“You best think fast, then. Here.” He handed her the datapad with the background for her new identities; asari and human. “Xaees V'tiva, former commando, now independent security consultant.”

She surprised him with a derisive snort. “That's an awfully fancy name for mercenary.”

“Not so. Look closer. V'tiva has spent some time working for Armax Arsenal. Perfectly legitimate. I was told you have a preference for turian weaponry.” Her eyebrows twitched slightly. “This seemed a good way to explain it.”

She studied the datapad and her eyebrows rose. “And I'm posing as an asari who's over 400 years old. Won't that be stretching it?”

He ignored her. “You have two contacts in there in case someone wants to check your references. Should you contact them and introduce yourself, they will 'know' who you are.” He emphasized the nature of the knowing by finger-quoting it the way he knew humans did; he **had** made sure to pick up a few things.

“Damn, you people are thorough.”

“Of course. You may run into other people who know of you. This identity was used by an asari Council Spectre working undercover some seventy years ago. A summary of her possibly known exploits under this name is included in this file, information graciously supplied by Councilor Tevos. You might want to familiarize yourself with them, should you be meeting with asari contacts.”

The human's brows had now furrowed.

“How many know about me by now?”

“To my knowledge? Only the four of us present here. Tevos does not know that you are human, only that the identity might see some use again.”

Hamid nodded, looking thoughtful and then added: “And the children whom we rescued from Omega. However many of them manage to remember it. And their parents.”

“Not to worry. Most of them will long have forgotten, whether you were human or asari. And to most of them it will not seem important after a while.”

She looked unconvinced, but shrugged.

Strange. For all the secrecy it did not seem to concern her overly much. He continued: “There's a copy of the human identity there as well – it just needs a name filled into the matrix.”

“And what has this human been doing? Also an independent contractor?”

“Yes. We do not have access to create personnel files in Alliance databases. You've been working as security on non-Alliance human colonies in the Traverse. That's where Arterius usually operates, making it plausible for him to have met you there.”

“Why not make it Omega and stick to the truth?”

“Because having something that semi-officially places a Council Spectre on a mission in the Terminus could create political issues we do not want,” he explained.

“Oh. That makes sense.” He could follow the movements of her eyes as she skimmed through the background. “Well, nothing here stands out. I'll have to memorize them both later.”

“And which name shall I put in? You could keep your own first name. It does not seem terribly unusual,” he offered.

“Hmmm, well, the kids from Omega do know me as Namira. So they wouldn't be blowing my cover by mentioning that. Guess that decides that, then.”

He approved of her reasoning. It might indeed be safer that way. “Agreed. And your last name? Common, but not too common, please. Something can look so intentionally bland that it stands out because of it.”

She fixed him with a measuring stare. “Former Blackwatch? Or just a really shrewd diplomat?”

He looked at her, conscious of hiding his surprise. If the Spectre she was working with had been someone other than Arterius, he was sure he himself would be asking them to put her name up for Spectre candidacy. The woman was perceptive **and** a shrewd diplomat herself. She had figured him out, and she had let him know so, but she had also given him an easy out in the same breath.

“I'm afraid, I'm not at liberty to say. The Hierarchy is very keen to keep the scheming talents of their politicians under wraps.”

She kept staring. “Did you just make a joke, Councilor?”

“If you tell anyone I will, of course, have to dismiss the claim as pure nonsense.”

Silence and then she laughed a short, slightly maniacal-sounding laugh. “No one would even believe I had spoken to a Councillor, anyway.” She gestured at the datapad. “Fuentes.”

“Namira Fuentes,” he repeated. “Very well. Your new existence will be a fact, when I update our databases with your biometrics upon my return to the office.”

Directing his attention to the pair working with the deceased children he asked: “Anything else you require, Spectre? Captain? Otherwise I should be getting back to my duties.”

Arterius turned to them and pinned him with a tense glare. “Not at the moment, Councillor. Unless you wish to witness the Captain's personal business. **Our** first order of business will be to contact a few specialists about some of the intel we found and then to await their answers. Filtering through it all for interesting connections could take several days, even with the help of the ship's VI. I also expect Huerta to send me the reports on the full extent and nature of the implants found in these bodies.”

“Yes, yes,” Sparatus confirmed, impatient to get back to the growing pile of datapads sure to be stacked on his desk, “full examinations, full reports to you, and no one can know – not even the families. You said so already. Anything else?”

“No.”

Sparatus would not let the Spectre be the one to dismiss him and he had planned for this possibility. “Well then, since you seem to have some free time on your hands until the intel comes together. I do have a mission you could take on in the meantime. Semi-urgent. I will send it to your omnitool. Captain Yorlik, anything you need now? Otherwise you can place any requests for me you may have along with the list of calls I expect I shall need to make.”

“Will do, Councillor.” At least the C-Sec Captain did not attempt to assert any kind of resistance to his authority like the Spectre.

Sparatus nodded at each of them in turn and headed towards the exit.

“Oh, Councilor?” Hamid's voice stopped him. “I spoke to a couple in there.” She gestured in the direction of the airlock. “They knew. Their kid remembers. Remarkable kid, too. Blew a man's head off at point blank. You types definitely wanna recruit her when she's of age.”

“Our types?”

“Yeah, the shrewd politician type. I'd watch her closely, if I were you. She'll go far.” Did her inflection change, when she said 'watch'? Sparatus was sure it had.

“I'm sure, she'll perform excellently, when her time of service comes up, then,” he told the human dismissively while mentally adding another point to the day's agenda: combing through surveillance footage from the hospital to find out who had spoken to her. A human making Blackwatch candidacy recommendations. His day could not possibly get any more strange.

* * *

Captain Yorlik finalised the document. Her body language had grown considerably more stiff as their examination had progressed. Saren could not fault her for expecting her boy to be in bad shape; not after seeing all the others. In spite of her mood becoming more subdued she had been no less efficient in her work. He appreciated Sparatus' choice of liaison; the Captain would cause him a minimum of annoyance.

_He recognised the sound and he did not. Groggy from having had only the merest hint of a nap, when he needed so much more, he thought he imagined it. Dreaming. He had not dreamed in a long time. Not since Desolas... No dreams. Only shadows._

The Captain lowered her datapad and looked at the last remaining occupied pod. Her expression was shuttered and gave nothing away. If he had not witnessed her progressing tension, he would never have guessed her to be anything other than coolly distanced. But he did know better; she had been pleased at first, almost animated at the prospect of being able to close some cases. Now her tightly tucked mandibles told him everything by saying nothing.

Since Sparatus left, Namira had busied herself with cleaning and tidying up the living space he had not shared with anyone for a long time. Not since Nihlus had he had anyone this close for this long, and yet the only visible sign of her even being there was her little corner with a mattress and the few items she counted as her belongings. She took every care to not leave any traces of her presence.

_It was not a dream. Most certainly not. As the fog of interrupted sleep cleared, the dual tones assaulting his ears slid into focus. Grudgingly he forced himself to stand. A wave of dizziness washed over him and he leaned on his pilot's seat to regain his bearings. The strange yet familiar sound coming from their informal infirmary drew his focus and beckoned him in that direction._

Captain Yorlik took a deep breath. “Is there anything else that requires my attention?”

He hummed a negative and gestured that she could feel free to proceed at her own pace. He took a step back to give her space. Besides, he was not the type to offer words of comfort.

“Very well.” Another deep breath.

Over the Captain's shoulder he noticed Namira cautiously making her way over to them. He expected she would have something to say, but she gave no indication of meaning to say it now. He acknowledged her presence with a slight nod. Captain Yorlik half-turned as well and saw the approaching human. She subvocalised an unhappy sound, the prospect of what she clearly expected to be an audience annoying her. Namira pretended she heard nothing, giving nothing away as to her ability to hear and understand turian subvocals. She did stop at a respectful distance.

Clearly the Captain decided to ignore her in favour of bracing herself for the grim sight she had good reason to expect.

_He would never have expected a human to be able to make such a sound. Admittedly, he had never cared to study any parts of their anatomy that were not useful for the purpose of pacifying or killing them, but it unmistakenly originated from Hamid, where she sat on the gurney; eyes closed, mouth slightly ajar – not unlike his own as he stood in the doorway utterly taken aback._

“Spectre? Please...” She nodded for him to open the pod, and he activated the controls.

The pod opened to reveal the Palaveni boy eliciting a cough of a surprise from his mother. She sought out his gaze, her subvocals full of questions. “His face... I did not expect... you were with him?”

Saren briefly considered lying but decided against it, there would be no benefit in it. Instead he looked to Namira, expecting her to explain her actions. The C-Sec Captain did not miss the meaning of that look.

“ **You** were with him?” Once again her voice was hard as diamonds, she was probably an excellent interrogator.

Namira nodded. “Yeah. I'm sorry.” Saren was unable to tell, whether she apologised for the boy's untimely death or for being the one to witness it.

_A larynx was not supposed to do that. Was it? Humans did not have a syrinx. Did they? Had he missed something essential? No, he was certain that was not the case. No explanation presented itself, but there was no denying that a rough-textured, dual-toned keening emitted from her. However unexpected, it seemed to work; the boy in her arms was completely relaxed. Safe._

To her credit, Namira did not wither under the intense stare that Saren was certain would have reduced lesser beings to bumbling messes. It was a stare he, too, had cultivated. It headed off much resistance before people could even think of putting it up.

“How did you know?”

Namira shrugged. “I didn't. I just figured that observing tradition wouldn't hurt. Just in case it would mean something to his family.”

The question had been perfectly clear, but Saren had to clamp down tightly on a bark of laughter. Dodging questions seemed to be a skill she had honed carefully.

“That's not what I meant, and you know it, human. How do you know the Spirit Passing Rite?” The tone was stern, her anger relegated to her subvocals in expectation that only he would hear and understand those.

The look that passed between them as brown eyes met golden was a contest of wills. “Does it really matter how I know it?”

_Hamid sat behind him and his small body leaned against her. His head was turned to the left, so his ear was resting against her chest, bringing him as close as possible to the vibrations she produced with her voice. His breathing was laboured and his mandibles fluttered in that semi-aware state of agitation a dying turian entered. There was no possibility of him making it to the Citadel._

“If you won't tell me how you know, how can I be sure it's been done right?”

Namira drew her head back slightly – pride, he noted – and crossed her arms. “It's been done right.” The glare she received for her obstinacy could have cut steel.

“You expect me to take that on trust alone?”

The Captain had her there, Saren mused to himself, curious to see how the secretive woman would handle the necessity of meeting a grieving mother halfway.

“Guess not.” She drew her lower lip between her teeth – a thing she sometimes did, when she was preoccupied or concerned, he had noticed. “I... I'm not... I can't tell you how I know. **Your** trust ain't my only concern.” She let her arms fall to her sides and gestured helplessly with open palms. “But I can tell you what I did. And Arterius can confirm the parts of it he saw.”

_Her hand came up to brush gently against the posterior edge_ _of the boy's mandibles. A wet, rattling breath shuddered through the his small body. Hamid kept up her strange keening. He recognised the subtle, melodic inflections of the ancient lament. However strange it sounded, when produced by her human vocal, it was nonetheless as accurate an adaptation as he could imagine any non-turian perform._

Not entirely content with the potential questions about why he had not performed the rite himself, he did confirm her statement with a curt flick of a mandible.

Captain Yorlik glanced between the two of them, unhappiness plain in her entire stance, but she did nonetheless accept the offer and turned to stroke her son's cheek. Clearly she had forgotten to acknowledge her acceptance in a vocal a human could be expected to understand. Looking at Namira, Saren could tell she had heard the Captain's acceptance and was relieved, though she also wore the subtle hint of a smirk at the mother's lapse in communication. It could be forgiven, though she was clearly not of a mind to reveal her additional aural capacity.

“Uhh, Captain Yorlik, ma'am?” She prompted, keeping her voice surprisingly soft and non-confrontational. It was the first Saren had heard of her employing such sensitivity.

The Captain did not move. “Arixa, please. I accept your proposal. Given that you were the one to see my son to his ancestors, you really should call me Arixa.”

_Saren had to pay attention to the four other patients. Thus he could only partially keep track of Hamid's unexpected performance. How had she possibly learned it? One thing was working with a bunch of turian mercenaries, but it was something entirely different to know the spirit lamentations for sending a dying friend or relative to their joining. And she seemed to know how to ease the boy's discomfort as well. His own rose at a steep incline. This was wrong. But she did everything correctly._

Namira stepped up to stand next to Arixa. “Are you religious or is it simply a matter of tradition to you?”

“Tradition. My bondmate, though... he's...” She trailed off, sounding uncertain. “He'll appreciate it more than I can. I think.”

“I understand.” Namira nodded slowly. “We were two days underway and still three days out, when it was clear he wasn't gonna make it. We struggled to keep them alive, but... well... you've seen...”

“Yes. I do not blame you.” Arixa looked in turn at both Namira and Saren. “Did he wake?”

“No,” Namira told her. “Only the krrith'k-” She stopped and ducked her head, looking mildly embarrassed – if Saren interpreted her right. “Sorry. I shouldn't even try. The uhh, spirit-stirs-for-travel state. I don't have an apt translation in my language,” she explained apologetically.

“I see.” Arixa nodded. “And?”

“Well, that's when I figured I needed to make a decision. And fast, too. The boss...” Namira gestured at him. “...was in the cockpit taking us through the relay, so there was only me to handle it.”

_He should have realised it sooner, but lack of sleep caused inattention. Some of his crates had been opened. Not only that, the evidence of it was right in front of him. Paint. On the boy's face. The thin black lines round the edges of his clan markings. Every single one. He was already sufficiently conflicted about the strange human and her presence on his ship. Now it turned out, she also knew the ritual of softening the way between the spirit and the void. And from his vantage point she had taken extreme care to make them perfectly even._

“So you painted the path...”

“Yeah. Guess I was lucky we even had the right paint on board.” Saren knew she probably did not intend for that to insult him and his lack of clan markings. More than likely she was merely thinking of the slim chances of a lone Spectre ever needing to perform that rite for anyone at all, but he nonetheless felt his temper flare. Glad that Arixa's attention was fully on Namira, he took care to stamp out every shred of misdirected anger. It would be unworthy of him to disturb this conversation, even if he did not believe in any spirits existing beyond a physical reality.

“But how did you kno-, no, I apologize.” Arixa shook her head as if to clear her mind. Saren was somewhat relieved to find that he was not the only one puzzled by his enigmatic human compatriot. Evidently she had gathered her thoughts and she started again. “You marked the way and then?”

“Then I called for his ancestors.”

“I didn't know humans could do that.”

“Well, we, uhhh, technically can't do it the way you can. Organs are different and all. But...” She paused and seemed to think about it. “Back when I needed to learn, I found out about an old Earth culture that had this very strange kinda singing. It don't sound exactly the same, but it's... well, it works. And I can be stubborn as all hell, so I learned. Didn't expect to ever use it again, but huh... here we are.”

_She had kept it up for longer than he would have expected her to, given the obvious strain. He opted to ignore the magnitude of the effort and instead settled for listening to the Call for Welcoming he had not heard in many years. There was no mistaking it. She knew it in practised detail, and though she struggled, the dual harmonics carried across exactly the meaning they were supposed to._

Arixa looked skeptical and Saren could hardly blame her. “I don't even know if that qualifies as having been done right.”

“Best I could do. I don't have your, uhh... you know.”

“Syrinx,” Saren supplied. “It's called a syrinx. And I assure you, Captain, I heard most of it. If your clan spirit would deny your son, just because the Caller has a speech impediment...” He let the suggestion hang and silently enjoyed the cheep thrill he got out of the brief flash of outrage on Namira's face. Arixa did not seem to notice it.

The temperamental human would probably yell at him later, but for now her focus was on the C-Sec Captain next to her.

Arixa studied him carefully, a distrustful hum creeping into her subvocals. Saren knew what was coming, she was probably just weighing her words, but there was no way to be polite about any turian's lack of clan markings.

“Ma'am, I promise you, everything was as it should be,” Namira said and pulled both of them away from their staring contest. She flashed him a brief smile with the side of her mouth currently hidden from Arixa's view, and Saren had no idea what to make of that.

_Saren did not return his attention to the rite for a while. Not before he heard a clear turn for the worse in the boy's breathing, did he look at the pair of them. Fingers twitched and Hamid's hand slipped into the boy's grip, where they stayed while his body shuddered through its last throes. She was crying as she finished the Call over the boy's body._

Namira continued: “If I was at liberty to tell you, who taught me, I would. Please just believe me when I say they were a family of good turians.” Her tone was intense, but Saren could not tell with which emotions. So many things would be so much easier if humans could subvocalise their intent rather than having to rely on inflections in spoken words. Their communication left too much to chance and misunderstandings.

“You sat by his bed...” Arixa once again pinned the woman by her side with her golden stare.

“No, I sat with him, and held him like the rite requires,” Namira corrected with a meaningful glance down at the boy's hands.

A nod. A sigh. “Very well. Am I to assume you maintained the Call for Welcoming until he was... gone?”

“Of course.” Now, that expression, he knew. She was actually somewhat offended by the suggestion that she had not finished what she had taken on. Good to know. “And then I barred the path again.”

“So I see.”

_Normally there would be more than one person handling the spirit passing rite, but they were fresh out of idle hands, and he could not leave their other charges. Thus he could only cringe as he watched her struggle to extricate herself from the dead boy with respectful, deliberate movements. She removed all the medical equipment, and then she prepared the white paint for the barrier lines. How Hamid managed to make them straight, even at her level of exhaustion, was beyond him._

Arixa carefully traced the edges of the boy's clan markings. Drawn up first with a thin black line to open the path for his spirit to pass to the spirit it would join in the void, and then with a thin white line to prevent another spirit from re-entering the body. Old superstition, of course, but tradition still held fast even among the most modern-minded turians.

The lines were minutely thin and perfectly placed. The level of control she employed impressed even him, he was loath to admit – even to himself. There was something to be said for that stubbornness that mostly just served to annoy him.

“And the Thrum... how long?”

“As long as I could manage,” Namira told her.

Arixa looked almost crestfallen. “You don't know?”

Namira shook her head. “'m sorry. I was 'bout to fall over. I just kept going for as long as I could.”

The family would need this information for them to determine how long they would keen at the funeral service. It was a good thing he had surveillance everywhere. He had not thought to check it already, however that could easily be fixed. “Excuse me for a moment. Then I should be able to tell you, Captain.”

He left them and headed for the cockpit, where he quickly found and scanned the footage.

_The Thrum of Unified Rest resonated through the room, as Hamid took it upon herself to bid the boy's spirit farewell. Or at least the idea of it. Saren had never paid old superstitions much heed himself, though he was familiar with the rich traditions. To his surprise she managed a far more accurate rendition of this one, and as he monitored the other children, he found himself slipping into an almost meditative state, while listening to the hypnotic cadence of Namira's strange vocals._

Upon returning, Saren found Namira to have once more stepped back from the older female, allowing her space to grieve.

“Twenty-three minutes she kept up the Thrum of Unified Rest,” he told Arixa, whose mandibles fluttered in blatant surprise, “after which her voice seemed to fail. Didn't hear a word from her for another full day.”

Turning to the woman behind her, Arixa's slack-mandibled expression left no doubt as to her indecision. Namira had apparently arrived at the same conclusion and she stepped in close again.

“Among humans we'd offer a hand-shake and our condolences,” she said. “I'm sure you know that.” The Captain nodded, seemingly at a loss for words and managing only a quietly stuttering subvocalisation of gratitude that Namira pretended she did not hear. “On a ship everybody's family by necessity. It kinda seems more right to offer this.” She drew a breath and repeated for a few seconds the deep and gentle thrum he had heard three days earlier.

Arixa for her part offered the back of her hand to the human, who naturally knew what the gesture meant and responded in kind. Saren could not decide whether he should be enraged by the ability of this human to insert herself in turian lives and culture so seamlessly, or whether he should simply be relieved that at least this human was not trying to bring the entire galaxy under a human yoke. He did not like having doubts.

When Arixa left with the promise of sending people to have the pods containing the deceased victims, Namira finally dropped her guard and allowed him to see exactly how exhausted she was. According to the read-out from her omnitool she ought to be unconscious.

“Sir, mind if I go pass out in that little room? So I'll be out of the way, when Captain Yorlik's people get here.”

“Don't fancy sleeping in your armour?”

She grimaced unintelligibly. Maybe it was not meant to mean anything. He gestured his permission for her to hide herself away.

_For another few days Saren still heard Namira's Thrum of Unified Rest echoing in his ears until the noises of the hospital assaulted his senses._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the last section of this chapter Namira refers to an old Earth culture's singing technique. The one in question is Tuvan throat singing. The turian melody she would be emulating is of course different - but the technique she has borrowed from [the kargyraa style exemplified here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O5CxK78cGac)
> 
> As always I welcome thoughts and criticism. Your input may well shape the future of the story. I have attempted to create a funeral rite that fits with what we do know of the turian perception of spirits not being individuals, but rather consisting of the spiritual characteristics of a unit, a clan, a crew, a city. The character of a dying turian would then be added to whichever spirit they belong with - one or more, hence the need for a Call. Since there's no individual, no personified spirit, characteristics by their nature can be added to more than one spirit - that's my reasoning. I imagine this poor boy's spiritual worth would be added to his clan spirit and the spirit that will have been created by the children in captivity. Outdated religious practices for a people so communal-minded and mostly atheist is an interesting thing to come up with, because even if most of them no longer believe in the actual existence of spirits - the personified characteristics of a unit - they will hold to tradition just like every other culture.


End file.
